Glass Coffin
by C.C. Lyn
Summary: The sound of glass goblets smashing into the ground echoed across the dark cavern, and there was no more turning back. It all started a year ago. Let me tell you my side of the story.
1. For the Fairest

He looked down at the field of gilded modern sculptures. They were art in motion, achieved by weaving individual training with team tactics into a fine filigree. A rush of glory at this sight coursed through his stationary body, quenching the throwing knife that was his mind, forged by divine hands and sharpened for years against stone. And all of a sudden, he knew, as the finished blade was drawn.

 _They would be the undisputed winners._

He grew alert upon noticing a snag at the edge of his eyes. The maverick was identified as the last person he wished to see at the souring moment. "What is this one doing here? Begone!" he declared loudly at the cloaked intruder. His team stopped when they heard their captain receive the uninvited visitor.

The modest cloak could not conceal the trespasser's exquisite beauty, and all recognized him immediately for his hallmark charm. He brought a presence grand enough to challenge the authority in this room, filling it to a brimming tension. Careless strands of spun gold had tumbled out from his hood. "Nice to see you too, ZP1C1," the boy greeted daringly in a smug, charming manner, "I see your team is doing well."

The haughty, relaxed way the other boy had a habit of speaking in irritated him, for it defied his efficient policies. He could not see how he had once seen his team as a threat when they were a lazy bunch that would have been the perfect group for his Second Comrade. He maintained a reserved composure and stared his rival down with absolute eyes. "This one is not welcome on our grounds. If this one has nothing important to say, then we request for this one to leave at once. This one is disrupting our practice."

"I'll cut right to the chase then. I come with words from the Commander."

"...Let us speak in the halls."

 _Time Skip_

"Commander," the red and blue cloaked figures addressed in unison as they kneeled before the tall man with exceptional grace. This, just like everything else they did, were the fruits of sweat and sores. The man had his back to them and was gazing at holographic screens. Among them were pie charts, medical documents, reports, and videos of boys in green jerseys. The red cloaked captain noted in particular a long haired boy with an eyepatch, a tall brunette, and a boy with dreadlocks and goggles. Appearance-wise they were very diverse, but all possessed the same sort of arrogant, impish grin.

 _How pathetic,_ he thought to himself, but he carefully concealed his thoughts with the same care he took to obscure his visage. He had been taught from the beginning that his opinions were of no importance, and would only suggest wavering loyalty. Betrayal was the greatest sin, and he would never allow the Commander to think of him anything less than the perfection which he was raised for.

With one glance from his sharp eyes, trained to observe and strike with utmost accuracy, it was clear the boy with dreadlocks was the playmaker of the team. His plays, although great, were flimsy to ZP1C1's well-tuned mind, which he had been told possessed an IQ of 180, a whole twenty greater than the former's. He knew that in only half a second he could think of strategies that would dominate every single one of the goggled boy's maneuvers.

That was why he was here, after all. That was why he lived, biding his time until he was presented with the opportunity to strike these mortals down. Only when he completed his mission would he have succeeded, and perhaps earned his freedom at last. Anything less than perfect execution would be failure. There would be no second chances: the Commander had made that clear from the beginning.

The man which the two boys called "Commander" made no acknowledgement that he had heard them. "Commander," the blue cloaked boy repeated, "I have brought ZP1C1 as you instructed."

Finally, the Commander shifted in his seat, and inquired in his deep voice, "First Comrades, how are your units doing?"

As according to the procedural practice, ZP1C1 went first. "You have my word that ZP1 is unmatched. Every member is in optimal condition and my strategies make the best advantage of their individual strengths." He could not resist curling the edges of his lips triumphantly. "We are ready."

The other captain brushed off his claim with faithful persuasion. "ZP2 will not lose either. I believe in each and every one of my teammates, including ZP2C2." ZP1C1 wondered how this boy could believe in a phantom's allegiance.

"I hope the two of you understand that actions speak louder than words," the great man chuckled with an edge in his tone, "Do not disappoint me."

"Yes Commander." That man's threats were always to be taken seriously.

ZP1C1 watched the man's wizened fingers drumming on the arm rest. He waited on the Commander beside the other captain for an uncomfortable period of time until the hand ceased and its owner spoke up again, "Remember that all rules are meant to be broken _except mine_. Don't forget your place, Afuro Terumi."

Flustered, blue cloaked boy quickly tucked his hair back in. "Deepest apologies, Commander. It won't happen again."

With a wave of Kageyama Reiji's hand, the two were dismissed.


	2. Leaden Arrow

_Hakuchou's POV_

The day had started out mockingly innocent.

A familiar, homely melody of violin wafted from the front seats, which I recognized easily as Sakurai Akane's newest single "For My Blackbird". My mother hummed along peacefully. I, having been exposed to Sakurai's music since I was out of the womb due to my mother's obsession with said artist and other contemporary violinists, subconsciously hummed along as I looked out the tinted back window of our glossy white Honda. Watercolor orange blended with with soft sheer magenta to create a lightbox that projected birds and trees as shadow puppets I could admire from the safety of our secluded car interior.

"Stop kicking my chair, Hakuchou," my father's gruff voice broke the harmony that my mother and I had created with the radio. Caught in the act, I realized that not just had I been humming, I had also been subconsciously keeping count with the song. It just so happens that in this case, I had accidentally been swinging my legs back and forth, my usual way of coping with anticipation.

"Sorry Tou-san," I said cheerfully, immediately switching the beat into an internal metronome, my legs dropping immediately into passivity. There was no way I wanted to ruin my father's special day; life as an office worker was the epitome of mundanity in Fukuoka city life. I turned my face back to the window just in time to see the sun dip below Mount Fuji, obscuring the world in a cloak of black velvet except for the blinding white streetlights and monotone car lights.

Yesterday at breakfast, my father had announced over our bland bowls of white rice and natto that, he, out of all the two hundred employees at the company office he worked for, had somehow managed to win a raffle of three tickets to the final match of the Football Frontier, which would take place in Tokyo. This was a strange but funny miracle considering the fact that he hadn't even bothered to enter the raffle due to his usual, almost comical bad luck, and that our family had never considered we'd ever be watching this match live as none of us had been following the matches of the Football Frontier.

The Suishous weren't a soccer family, or a hardcore fan of any competitive sports for that matter, but nevertheless my father was still delighted that he would be able to attend this event. Soccer always had a contagious presence in Japan, after all, being a timeless sport that had its roots deep in our country's history. Not to mention, those of his coworkers who were too poor to afford tickets would probably ask him details for the next three days, and who doesn't like attention? As for me, there's no reason why I should refuse a prestigious offer if it was free, even if I'd probably have no idea what was going on and accidentally cheer when the wrong team scored. Not like we were siding with any team, really, but my dad was preparing to cheer for Teikoku because they had apparently dominated the football world for decades, not that I would know of course. Heck, I don't even know _which_ team was Teikoku, nor what the name of the other school was for that matter.

Tucking away a loose strand of my long silver hair, I peered down at my ticket. Now that my view had been rendered to a bore, I observed the small cardstock note with my crystal blue eyes in detail for the first time. At the left was a boring, solid colored block that contained date, time, location, and our seats with the logo of the Football Frontier watermarked in pale blue gray, while on the right was another rectangle, this one having a soccer ball pattern and a faint, pre-cut, dotted line. The large rectangle in the middle was left to advertise the teams who would be competing today, as well as the sponsor nobody cared about in a tiny box at the corner.

Printed in vivid full color were four boys, two on each side of the ticket, partitioned by a dramatic bolt of white lightning down the middle. Most notable was probably the fit, tanned, blonde boy who was depicted in an aerial shoot surrounded by obviously photoshopped flames. Below and slightly obscured by the flames was a porcelain-pale male, significantly scrawnier than the first boy, with shoulder length black hair and a murderous ruby glare. On the other side, a feral brunette was seen punching the ground to create another digital effect, this one however a fortress of pure gold light, and above him was a smirking boy from the torso up, enlarged to be the biggest out of all four with crossed arms, strange goggles, and a flowing red cape that looked more like a costume than fitness attire.

Even if I probably wouldn't understand anything about what was going on in the game, at least there would be hot guys to cheer for. Hot semi-celebrity guys _my age_. Even if those goggles were a little too bizarre to be a fashion do. Even if the blonde guy's eyebrows were obviously distasteful. Even if the brunette's Cheeto-orange tattoos were super tacky. Even if the pale guy totally failed in pulling off the vampire style and rather looked much like a sickly anorexia patient instead.

I took a picture of it and texted it to my best friend Misako, whom I knew would appreciate the eye candy even though she already had a steady boyfriend. She replied almost immediately with three consecutive heart eyes emojis, and then a selfie with said boyfriend that showed they were going to watch the match together on television at his house, even though I knew that she, just like me, barely cared for soccer.

I felt a tinge of jealousy, not because she was with him (I fully respected the girl code, and frankly her boyfriend wasn't my type anyway), but because she was with _someone_. I've been forever alone since Kuroda Yarimichi dumped me two months into the school year saying that he had fallen for another first year, however not without implying that he had dumped me because he found me too brash contrary to the girl he had originally thought I was. It had turned into a full blown fight at the back of the school, the both of us screaming at each other, most of it me accusing him of dating me only for my looks and him refuting my claims by saying this was exactly the reason why he couldn't stand being with me anymore. Apparently, according to Misako who gotten inside details from one of her boyfriend's friends, Kuroda had spread some nasty stories to the soccer team afterward and was the reason why no one would ask me out ever since the breakup.

I swallowed the sourness. I was over Kuroda, that manwhore. I was better off without him anyway.

A sudden stop jerked my body forward and destroyed my daydreaming of a whimsical little fairy tale that had been cut off as I gazed into deep onyx eyes while Kuroda glared at us bitterly, nearly throwing my forehead into the back of my father's seat. The ticket fluttered out of my hand and landed on the backseat floor. Frowning, I bent over and reached down to pick it up, but another sudden rush launched my head into my father's chairback.

"Ouch!"

I tasted blood in my mouth. Wrinkling my nose, I took a gulp of water from my water bottle to wash away the blood and pain on my tongue. It would probably be sore for days.

"Sorry Hakuchou, seems like there's a bit of traffic problems." I caught my father's worried glance in the rearview mirror and shook my head, mustering a smile. He smiled back, but his eyebrows were still furrowed in perplexity as his pupils dashed across the road.

Another bump spilled the water from open bottle all over the backseat and made me choke on the water in my mouth. Coughing, I squinted my eyes at the darkness outside, trying to decipher what traffic problems were causing me such discomfort.

"I wonder what happened?" my mother phrased what was on all three of our minds out loud, not directed to anyone in particular.

"Probably just a traffic jam. There's so much people it's to be expected," my father answered, his face still scrunched up in anxiety.

Sakurai had become a nuisance to my ears now, amounting to no more than white noise as it became a measure stimulating anxiety, compared to the earlier upbeat tune. My mother's usually serene face, also reflected in the rearview mirror, matched the mood, though I couldn't tell whether it was because she had become inebriated by the apprehensive music or had it been caused by the traffic situation.

Now our car came to an abrupt stop. Both my parents went still like mannequins that held shifting facial displays of concern, confusion, then finally, surprise.

Something about their expression, especially the tinge of fear in the last, immediately sent a shiver of unease down my spine. "Kaa-san, Tou-san-" I was cut off as I leaned forward to see what was going on when I saw a blinding flash of light.

I only remembered the frenzied honking of cars and the fear rushing to my head, then being hit by such a big impact that it knocked both the air and consciousness out of me, all while Sakurai's wailing crescendo reached its ear-piercing peak.

As my body and soul fell as one, my last glimpse of consciousness was that of being held in a sea of blood as the black haired boy on the ticket seemed to stare back in an unreadable expression that could almost be mistaken for remorse.


	3. Tiny Hands, Bloody Hands

My eyelids felt heavy. I tried to open them, but surprisingly, they didn't budge. It was as if I was lying in a coffin of lead.

I furrowed my bows and strained my muscles, then finally managed to open then only to be greeted with foreign, sterile white walls. Soft sunlight and a gentle gust of wind drifted into the squarish room from the open window, giving the place a happy, peaceful atmosphere. Tilting my head to the side, I realized that I was lying on an unfamiliar cot, and judging from the wires that connected my body to the lightly humming machine next to the bed, I was probably in a hospital.

I sat up, but somehow the action felt different than how I climb out of bed every morning in a strenuous, awkward way, similar to how it took me more concentration to open my eyes. In other words, very _off_. Only now did it strike me odd that my first glimpse had been crystal clear rather than sleepily blurred, and that I, an unfortunate victim of myopia due to excessive reading under the covers in my kiddie days, could see so perfectly without glasses.

The light intro melody of "For My Blackbird" snaked into my room from the open window, and then I finally remembered.

Wait...the car crash…

It all started coming back to me. The lights reflecting off our windshield, the roar of honking and tires screeching in discordance with violin strings, then finally, black.

Instinctive panic shot through my veins. Where are my parents?

At this thought I threw off the bedsheet, prepared to run out of the room, only to see in horror that _the wires were actually plugged into me._ Even more shocking was the fact that pieces of my arms had been flipped open like secret sockets, with _actual metal rimmed holes_ for the wires connecting me to the happily humming machine next to me.

I couldn't help it. I screamed.

Only a few seconds later, footsteps could be heard running towards my room, then the door was flung open by a stern looking man and two nurses. "She lived!" one of them gasped and collapsed to the ground, covering her mouth with her hands. Tears started oozing out of her eyes, that was, frankly, a melodramatic reaction in my opinion. In contrast, the man remained completely calm and extended a hand out, as if expecting me to shake it, "Gouenji Katsuya, your operator."

I ignored his gesture, and eventually he retreated his outstretched arm, looking slightly flustered and disgruntled. "What's going on?" I asked instead, unsure of why the nurses looked so shocked. Judging by what that lady had said, did she mean they thought I was going to… No, I'm not going to even think that word. It didn't happen, so it couldn't be true.

The three didn't answer. They exchanged glances, and finally the surgeon turned to me and said those blood chilling words that would be imprinted in my memory forever.

"You were supposed to die. No, you did die. These nurses here saw you take your last breath, saw your last heartbeat, saw you cough feebly and struggle to stay alive. Then your body just gave out, and your brain stopped."

It was as if I was the conductor of an orchestra, and I had just pulled the gesture for dramatic silence. The only sounds that could be heard were birds chirping merrily outside in their own little bubble, and that accursed violin, still tauntingly cheerful.

"So...I died?" All I could do was ask that statement dumbly, even when Gouenji Katsuya had just explicitly stated seconds ago, even going as far as describing my last moments, and I quote, _No, you did die_. The three adults nodded gravely, as if they thought that doing so would make the fact easier to sink in. "We thought the operation had been too late when your brain ceased shortly afterward, but then Hiraga-san here," Gouenji Katsuya gestured to the nurse that had collapsed to the floor, "Swore she saw your heart beat on the monitor, so we agreed to let you stay for twelve hours. Everyone had expected it to be just an accidental reading, but, well, here you are."

"And my parents?" I finally dared to ask, afraid for the answer, yet impatient at the same time.

At this the surgeon's lips stretched into a waxy, grim smile.

"Oh…"

Strangely, I felt nothing. Perhaps it was because I could not process all the information at once, or maybe I simply didn't believe it; however, no tears, dizziness, or hysterical scream came. My only reaction to this news was to let my hands, those hands suddenly too small to hold the world, hang limply and strengthless at my sides like the dead bodies of my mother and father.

Gouenji Katsuya seemed to notice my struggles of loss. "We'll give you some time to mourn alone," he said quietly as he prepared to leave the room, "Hiraga-san can come back later and explain your new 'conditions' to you once you feel mentally stable enough to handle news of your operation."

My head snapped up violently. "No, it's fine," I said urgently, and perhaps a little too loudly, "You can tell me now." Keeping conversation would delay me from having to feel the burden of death on those weak, fragile, unprepared hands.

He rose a surprised eyebrow, but nevertheless reentered the room and closed the door behind him once more. "You were beyond saving for your wounds had been mortal, but one of the doctors brought up the prototypes we had just received in a shipment mistake from a prosthetic development group. That was our only hope, but despite all odds it worked. When your brain stopped before we managed to turn on the newly implanted system, we thought it would've been a lost cause, but your body responded. So as of present day, you are one of the only two people in history who have a prosthetic ratio over forty percent and in medical terms, managed to have came back from the dead."

I was stunned into silence. Perhaps he had been right to allow me some time to organize my mentality before informing me this; to hear that I was a _cyborg_ , one that has revived nonetheless, out of all impossible things was the perfect cherry to top this nightmare off.

I held up my hands to cradle my face, but an impenetrable force field seemed to surround me, making my hands unable to come closer than a foot. My arms refused to move, for all I saw in those trembling, foreign hands were my dead parents. Even when they had touched no sin, even when my eyes had saw no crime, they were still stained. Stained with blood that curled up my nostrils and estranged my brain, threatening to choke me and pull me under. Blood that wasn't visible to the naked eye, blood that had soaked in too deep to ever wash away.

These were the hands of a dead person. This blood...no, this blood wasn't my parents'. This innocent blood was mine, that of my own mortal self's.

I had been stripped of all humanity. First went my body, then even my gift of mortality was not spared. I had been left with nothing that made me human, not even the ability to cry.

So what was I? Cyborg? Corpse? Ghost? Immortal?

No, I knew what I was. I was wrongly slain, a guiltless fallen angel, a victim of science and soccer.

Suddenly I felt a flicker, and a feeling I didn't quite understand bubbled up inside. Events didn't just _happen_. They had to be caused, and in the end, that fault always falls upon man. Deep down I knew that the real blame should be placed on the driver who crashed into our car, but it was far easier for my disoriented self to ignorantly blame a scapegoat. The spark bubbled even more, to the point I felt the inferno reach boiling point.

I would never know what would've happened or how I would've reacted if the door hadn't opened at that second and broke my bubble, the tiny world of lustful, deserving revenge I had subconsciously created. Another nurse came in to whisper something in Gouenji Katsuya's ear to which he nodded.

"They've assigned you to go to the rehab center. It's in the right wing on the third floor, and you will be required to go to the rehabilitation room, located at the end of the hall, at least twice a week until told so otherwise when your condition improves. I will be responsible for you and act as your temporary guardian since we could not contact any relatives willing to take you in on such short notice, and Hiraga Momo will be your private nurse."

He gestured to the two nurses who had entered with him and they came over to unplug me, making sure to carefully close all my compartments afterward. I can't say that it didn't feel strange, but truth be told I didn't feel much of it. Even though I'm reluctant to admit, it even felt a little natural, which creeped me out more than you'd think and made me feel even more unfamiliar. When I stood up, I finally noticed how unbalanced I felt and would've promptly collapsed back onto the bed if the two nurses hadn't acted quickly. Struggling frantically like a blind man, I tried to hold my footing and find my balance but to no avail. Without anything left to anchor me on this plane, I had been reduced to a hollow, helpless shell no better than a drifting ghost.


	4. Technical Difficulties

Things settled into a routinely cycle after that first shocking day. For the first few nights, Hiraga would come in every two hours or so to check on me and my cyborg monitor, but as days passed, she came less and less, though I hardly noticed. Then again, I couldn't really differentiate days and hours anymore in this monotonous world. Everything felt the same, especially when I floated in drugged waking dreams.

During this time dust accumulated on the window sill and grime clung to the bottom of the panes. I never opened the window, for fear of that grinning, wretched melody. Hiraga had stopped trying after I had furiously slammed it down in front of her face one morning and gave her a harsh glare which I regretted a moment after, though beyond her restricted expression of fear had been a flicker of pity. Pity at me, I knew, for I felt the exact same thing towards myself, but also, frustration. Frustration to be unable to control anything. Frustration to be helpless to the point I accepted my own weakness and forgot what it felt to have control over my own life, to have become so passive that I accepted the mock up eyes they gave me that I see in the mirror every day gazing back defeatedly and realize that I did not remember what I used to look like or who I had been, then to feel nothing about this fact.

They say that the caged bird sings because it long for freedom, but my bird has gone silent.

Some nights I would wake up screaming with no sounds coming out of my mouth from dreams of being buried alive. "You're a corpse," the faceless men would chant with condescending voices as I begged them to stop and the air became much harder to breath, "Dead little girls belong in the grave."

It got a little better when they introduced me to a new medication. My world shifted from blindness in the black and dancing nightmares to hopeless, bleak gray skies. I no longer felt frustrated at my own vulnerability, though I couldn't tell whether that was because I had gotten used to the fact that I was incapable or because of the numb escape the pills provided.

I don't remember what life used to feel like. I don't remember anything anymore.

Hiraga and Gouenji-sensei tried to help, but to no avail for I rejected all their aids. I didn't want help; I wanted to drown. I begged God to stuff it down my throat and pour it into my nose and ears, to clog my brain and choke me. I implored him to fill my lungs and pull me under, to reap my soul and let my body sink into the cool dark waters.

 _Please let me die, or at the very least, let me cry._

But no tears ever came.

Just like that weeks passed, or had those merely been days? I could only count how much time had passed from the flowers that Hiraga brought in every day. Occasionally there would be little gift baskets filled with ribbons and jewelry strung with citrine and pearls, but usually it was just a single white water lily which would be added to the giant bowl of identical white lilies on my bedside table. A strange gift from an anonymous, Hiraga always said with a wink as if it had came from a secret admirer, but I knew that she too was clueless of the sender's identity. Perhaps they too pitied me, for they only ever sent gifts without notes as if they didn't want to be caught associating themselves with me, but I never had the heart to tell Hiraga to throw the flowers out. Of course the pan was soon filled to the brim, but we found other places to set up trays of water. The doctors and nurses became worried as my room became cluttered with white blooms and thick fragrance, especially since I refused to throw out the old, disintegrating flowers. But amongst the new blossoms every day were petals of the old, dead and stained brown in the water, and they reminded me that every morning was a fresh new day. Bathed in the soothing scent of promise, things gradually got better.

Hiraga almost dropped my meal tray when she saw the open window one day at sunset. I guess I had just forgot why I feared the world outside that day, and frankly, the room had gotten quite stuffy with all those flowers. When I thought about it rationally, it wasn't like they were going to play that song every time I opened the window anyway.

With my room being on the third floor, I could easily cast the entire town within a single scene. The sights it offered were quite different from the Fukuoka neighborhood I was used to, but Inazuma Town emitted a happy, welcoming presence that Fukuoka's busy city life lacked. Admiring it had a calming effect that made me feel a small, homely warmth inside. In the distance I could see the Inazuma Steel Tower and the silhouette of a school with a lightning bolt mounted on top and often, I would also see a brown haired boy around my age at the tower swinging a tire around. Most of the time he ended up falling on his butt, but for some reason unbeknownst to me he always got up and came back. Watching him gave me a tingling feeling like I was remembering something, though I could never grasp what it was. The lotuses reassured me that I would realize it one day, and I noticed that for the first time in my life, I was patient about waiting.

As my mental health improved, so did my recovery rate. Originally I had been told that I was recuperating slower than the doctors predicted, but all of a sudden my physical capabilities took a turn and starting to climb up at a shocking speed. Now they predicted I would be fully functional after six months compared to the original prediction of ten months and the adjusted prediction of twelve. I didn't feel any different than before, but before I knew it, two month had passed and I was able to walk shakily with crutches. The fact that I could get out of bed without any help nearly made me cry tears of happiness.

But with this development, I also started to grow tired of waiting. Now that I had expectations, I wouldn't settle for simple progress anymore.

When I was young, I was often told that I worked too hard, pushed myself too much. Whether it was a field day game or mastering double pirouettes on pointe, just your best is enough, they always said. But trying your best isn't enough, not for me. No, it always needed to be all or nothing, every time, no matter what. My dignity would take nothing less. Even now, if they thought I would be able to walk independently after four months, I would strive for three, and you bet I'll make myself capable of running by then too. But in order to do that, I would need to train my body more. If I wanted to practice outside the allotted times the hospital scheduled, I'd have to make it down the hall to the rehabilitation room on my own and sneak by any nurses that might know I should be in my room at the moment. That was fine with me, for it was just another opportunity to exercise, but it was only when I had already made my way some distance down the hall did I realize just how much harder it may be to actually carry out my plan then I had originally thought.

For one, I had chosen the wheelchair I was unfamiliar with using. Usually I had Hiraga to push me, and turning the wheels myself turned out to be much more excruciating than I had expected, especially with undeveloped arms. Crutches would have been more efficient, but the wheelchair was much more reliable. While I could indeed walk ten meters with crutches, I didn't have complete trust in my limbs yet. If they were to suddenly fail me and turn into jelly, I would be left in the hall until a nurse or doctor passes, who will then no doubt ask me questions and discover my flee which I definitely did not want. Luckily, the hallway remained deserted throughout the entire duration of my struggle, sparing me from excessive effort.

Rolling my wheelchair into the rehabilitation center, I saw that there was only one other person inside. I thanked God again for my good luck that it was a patient I was not acquainted with, which would guarantee that my ploy would not be exposed. Strangely enough, there were usually four or five seniors and occasionally a toddler accompanied by a nurse, but today it was only an attractive young boy who looked around nine or ten with dark indigo hair and an accentuating mole underneath his lips.

He carried an air of maturity and refinement and a face that would've made me guess his age as twelve or thirteen should he have been a little taller and his body a bit more developed. The boy turned his head to meet my eyes with striking amber ones and greeted me demurely with a smile, "Ah, hello."

This action caught me by surprise, for the usual patients who came in here always minded their own businesses and ignored everyone else or mingled in tight knit groups. The best you could've expected if you were someone like me was a nod of acknowledgement or a polite but reserved smile that seemed to stem more from social obligation than friendliness.

I realized that I had taken far too long to form a reply. "Um...yeah," I stammered awkwardly. It was far from the pleasant greeting I had in mind, but it would have to suffice.

"Cat got your tongue?" the boy asked cheekily.

I felt my face grow warm. "Technical difficulties," I lied as I took my place on the parallel bars, but hey, when the vast majority of your body consists of prosthetics, it _is_ a valid excuse. He laughed, but it wasn't a mean one, so I decided that he was probably a nice person.

Somehow, we ended up starting a conversation. "So, you new here?" he offered.

"Kinda. Been two months."

"Really," he flashed me a dazzling, coquettish half smile, "That's funny. I come here every day and I haven't seen you before."

I shrugged. "When did you come in?"

"Six months ago."

"What happened?" The question had popped out naturally, but it must've been a touchy subject for the boy grew somber and silent. I instantly felt bad. While he might've spoken in a friendly manner, we were still strangers. After all, I didn't even know his name. I understood the pain, burden, and loss that everyone in the hospital carries all too well; I too, would not want to tell a person that I just met five minutes ago that I was a revived cyborg.

"Sorry," I blurted, mentally slapping myself for spewing out yet another horribly constructed declaration.

His demeanor did not change upon the deliverance of my apology, but a second later, he lifted his head and smiled purely in a complete shift of character. "No, no, it's fine," he dismissed airily, but I noticed he had became reluctant to look at me in the eyes.

"Well, let's just say that I had bad luck that day. But I'm glad it was me instead of my brother."

"Brother?" I asked instinctively, then realized just how inconsiderate I had been once again. But unexpectedly, his face lit up at the subject matter. "Oh yes, his name is Kyousuke. He loves soccer and we're both big fans of Kidokawa Seishuu, especially Gouenji Shuuya and Inoue Shizuro. Do you play?"

I absentmindedly shook my head. I didn't want to ask him for clarification of those unfamiliar names for fear of accidentally breaking the fragile atmosphere that had finally reverted back to a comfortable zone, but Gouenji Shuuya...as in Gouenji Katsuya? Gouenji wasn't a common last name, and I knew that it was probably just a coincidence, but I found myself unable to dismiss the far fetched correlation. Maybe I really was too desperate.

He broke my train of thoughts before my speculations could run any further. "Your turn, tell me a bit about yourself."

"Oh- Um…" I stammered. He made the go-on gesture with a patient expression. In the end, I resorted to the lamest line I could've came up with.

"I guess you can say that I had bad luck that day too…"

"How about your family?" he cut in in an attempt to change the subject, no doubt thinking that he had also accidentally crossed the line when that was in fact not the case at all, but rather this question which really hit me raw.

"...Sorry…" he muttered after a long silence to which my eyes remained fixed on the floor.

Another awkward silence followed.

Because none of us picked up the conversation, he turned to leave, most likely to escape the uncomfortable situation. I was thankful he acted first, for I did not think I had enough grace to initiate abandoning our positions without coming off as rude. I sensed a slight, masked strain from him as he limped back to his wheelchair which was was parked a mere step away from where he held himself at the bar. "I'll be going then...Miss Technical Difficulties," he said cheerily with another grin, though this one was a lot more obviously faked.

"Suishou Hakuchou," I offered. I wasn't sure why, but the words just slipped from my mouth. I guess we knew a little too much about each other now to remain nameless acquaintances. Or maybe I just wanted someone I could hold more attachment to in this small dreary world.

His eyes warmed and his smile softened. "Tsurugi Yuuichi," he replied sincerely for the first time since we started talking, "See you later, Suishou-san. Perhaps you'd like to come over sometime? I can introduce you to my brother too, he visits every afternoon."

A feeling I forgotten ever since I entered the hospital swelled up inside my heart, and I finally realized what it was that the brown haired boy with the tire had so subtly reminded me of. Perhaps we were all just poor souls desperately trying to patch our cracks and hide them from the world, but became too blinded to realize that the only glue we needed were the people right in front of us.

"Definitely." I smiled back, realizing only afterward that for the first time in the hospital, I had smiled genuinely.


	5. A Butterfly's Promise

Still elated from the earlier realization, I returned to my room with a bounce in my step, that is, the equivalent of a bounce on a wheelchair. It felt good to finally be freed from the cycle I had been trapped in, and for the first time, the atmosphere the hospital emitted felt more encouraging than mocking.

I slid open the door, ready to take a relaxing break with the newest installation of best selling light novel series Kotori-hime, based off the classic story of Snow White, when suddenly I paused. Something about my room seemed...off.

I couldn't quite place my finger on what it was, but my room was definitely...not how I left it, should I say. My first thought was that Hiraga had probably came back to check on me, but that did not seem the case, for there would've definitely been more commotion in the halls should I have been reported missing. Therefore, the only possibility was somebody else who was not associated with the hospital, though there was not enough evidence to jump to the conclusion that someone had entered my room in the first place.

"Hello?" I asked timidly, for I still could not shake the unsettling feeling off.

No reply.

I paused for five seconds.

Still no reply.

I breathed a sigh of relief, then felt a little silly at how much the situation, especially my reaction, struck me like a cheesy horror movie.

Cautiously, I made my way into the room. After peering behind all the things large enough to hide a human body and finding zero signs of disturbance, I finally succumbed to the rational suggestion that I had just been imagining things. Perhaps paranoia was a side effect of the antidepressant pills.

Satisfied with the results of my search, I climbed into the covers and turned to where I had last left off on Kotori-hime's quest. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure I had just been overly suspicious, for no harmful individual could've gotten past the hospital's security. Now that I was at ease, it didn't take me long to forget all about my earlier discomfort and fall into the familiar, exciting pages of the book...

I let out a loud yelp as I caught a blob of bright orange tacitly emerge from under the bed in my peripheral vision. Immediately footsteps sounded the corridor. The blob turned around and I realized in surprise that it wasn't an it, but a he. His frantic cyan eyes locked with mine for a moment before the crescendoing footsteps indicated that the doctors and nurses were right outside my door, to which he then jumped in realization and ducked back underneath my bed right before the door slammed open.

"What happened?! Are you alright?!" Gouenji-sensei shouted. Beside him were Hiraga and a brown haired male nurse I was unfamiliar with, both of whom were panting heavily and had their eyes anxiously fixed on me.

"I- I was just reading when I found a little boy hiding beneath my bed," I stammered, then realized just how much my statement sounded like a bad lie. I braced myself for the reprimands that were sure to come even though it was in fact the truth, but none of it came. Rather, the two nurses displayed expressions of even greater anxiety and sighed in frustration, while Gouenji-sensei let out a breath of relief.

"Did he, by any chance, happened to be a boy that looked about four with orange hair?" the brown haired nurse asked.

I frowned. "With big blue eyes?" I asked, remembering details of the little boy's appearance and finding it strange at how perfectly on point the description was. He nodded vigorously. "Yeah," I said casually, my voice rising like a question.

"Ran away again," the nurse mutter underneath his breath.

"Where is he now?" Hiraga asked and nudged the other nurse, as if reminding him that every passing second was a waste of time and increased the chance of the boy getting even farther, which probably would've been true if he had left my room.

"He-" I was about to answer, _"He's still here, he's under my bed,"_ when I felt a gentle tug on the edge of my shirt. Shooting a quick glimpse towards the only person who could've done such a deed, the little culprit who was now crouching on the other side of the cot held a finger up to his lips in a gesture of secrecy. I felt no obligation to help him of course, especially after he had just intruded my room, but I found myself unable to resist when he gazed back with pleading puppy eyes.

I turned back to the trio with fake concern plastered over my face. "He ran out, but I think he went down the left side of the corridor," I lied. My expression and demeanor were most likely believable in conveying my forged innocence, for the brown haired nurse immediately shot down in said direction. Hiraga sent me one last wistful glimpse before she too chased after him, and Gouenji-sensei only shook his head and walked out the room, closing my door behind him.

I waited a good five seconds until his footsteps faded away before turning back to the other side of the cot, only to find it lacking the presence of a certain individual. My head snapped around to find the orange haired boy sneakily crawling away from my cot and towards the door.

"Hey!" I exclaimed.

He jerked in a manner resembling that of a cat caught eating the fish from the bowl, then scrambled up and charged towards the door. "Get back here!" I demanded, throwing aside the sheets and swinging my legs to the side of my bed before remembering that there was no way I could catch up to him when I could barely stand up in the first place. To my relief, he stopped in his getaway and turned around slowly, though seeing his hanging head and shameful countenance immediately sucked the temper out of my body.

My face softened, but I don't think he noticed the change. I hadn't wanted to scare him, truthfully. I had merely been curious as to why he had taken up refuge under my bed, but I might have spoken too harshly if he was truly four as the nurse had informed me previously.

"Won't you stay a little?" I asked quietly in a kinder tone, "I don't often get company."

Hesitantly, he looked up "I guess," he muttered shyly, shuffling towards me, "It's not like I can sneak out now that they know I've ran away again."

"Why did you run away?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I wanted to play soccer!" he whined loudly, then pouted, "They don't let me because they say it's bad for my health."

Now that he mentioned it, I realized that he was carrying a soccer ball in his arms. Judging from his reply and this visual clue, it only took me a second to realize that he had been trying to sneak out the hospital when a nurse or doctor came down the hall, which forced him to hide in the nearest room: mine. I must've came in right before he could leave, which destroyed his option of leaving undetected. It also explained that feeling I had first gotten when I returned to my room.

"If you resist the temptation, then you'll get well sooner. Once you're discharged you can play soccer all you want," I chided gently.

To my horror, the boy dropped his head once again. "They say I'm not ever going to get well," he confessed with a cracking voice, "But I want to play soccer!"

I felt my heart broke; in horrific epiphany, I realized that he and I were really not that different. We were both victims of unjust and cruel luck, powerless to fight against what fate had sentenced.

How many others in this world suffered silently everyday?

How had I, no, how could I have been so ignorant before, so wrapped up in the happy world I took for granted to not have seen the mutilated, starving children reaching out desperately, wishing every day to be saved?

It was at this point in my life that I emerged from the cocoon of juvenescence as a butterfly, for I could no longer be fooled into believing the world obscured by the mist of promise. Silently, I made a promise to myself and to those tiny clawing hands, all stained with their own tragic blood like mine though mine no longer desired help that I knew would not come.

 _I'll restore justice to where it has been called for._

Before I could decide what to say in an effort to help or at least comfort the orange haired boy, he leaped over to my bedside dresser. I realized what he was doing a second too late to stop him from picking up the crumpled ticket next to the pan of wilting lilies.

He unfurled the worn, cardstock slip I had grown to both treasure and detest. Upon this discovery, his whole face brightened, all previous tears having been abandoned. After smoothing out the ticket as delicately as you would hold a baby bird, he looked up with an excited grin. "Nee-san, do you like soccer too?"

His question caught me off guard, for I had not expected him to open up to me so soon, especially after I had just scared him and nearly made him cry. Tentatively, I carefully chose the words to formulate my reply with an obvious opening as so that he would hopefully take the bait, "I've never watched a game before. That would've been my first, but unluckily I never got to see it."

Unfortunately, the boy did not start talking about the game, even though I'd thought that a fanatic who recognizes the ticket would've at least followed the finals. However, his strange reply piqued my interest. "I'll be back in a second!" he shouted as he ran out the door, once again moving too fast for me to ask for my ticket to be returned before he disappeared. A few minutes later, he returned without his soccer ball, but with a stack of new trinkets in hand.

"Tada!" he exclaimed as he waved a plain black DVD case in the air. Stopping by my bedside dresser once again, he put down the rest of the stack and popped the disk in the case he had been holding into my small television. As he turned it on and jumped onto the bed where I patted and offered him a seat, he started explaining, "I don't have the finals match, but I have the next best thing. The finals were canceled because Kidokawa had lost their three trump cards-"

I cut him off excitedly at the mention of a name I recognized. "Did you say Kidokawa? Kidokawa Seishuu? As in…" I tried my best to recall the names from my earlier conversation, "...Gouenji Shuuya and Inoue Shizuro?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but don't forget their jack and original captain, Yoshida Hiko! Gouenji and Inoue may have brought them to the finals, but Kidokawa wouldn't be where they are without Yoshida."

"Yoshida? Who's that."

"You don't know who Yoshida Hiko is? How can there be anyone in Japan who has not even at least heard of the name Yoshida Hiko?" he stood up, shouting in surprise. Gullibly, I shook my head. Personally, I was more surprised at the fact that the doctors had came running at my previous exclamation, but not at this outburst.

"The media calls him Japan's Mark Kruger. You know, like the blonde American junior all-star? Last year, he gained recognition as a first year while Kidokawa moved up the brackets, so of course it was to be expected that he be given the captain mark this year. He has only ever used one hissatsu, but it's amazing, and he came up with it himself! He declared that he's made it his mission to end Teikoku's forty year winning streak. Man, I so wish I could shine as bright as him."

As if on cue, the television started as soon as he finished lecturing and he quickly sat back down, humming along with the Football Frontier opening as he swung his legs back and forth, kicking one of the metal legs of my bed along with the beat.

The recording opened with a passionate voice that I found embarrassingly pleasant to listen to. "Alright, fans and audience members, it's time for the long awaited match between Kidokawa Seishuu and Caribbean Junior High to determine who will be the ones moving up into the finals to challenge the fearsome Teikoku Gakuen! I, Kakuma Oushou, will be bringing you this intense match today. Can Gouenji Shuuya prove that he truly has the capabilities to wear the captain's band that Yoshida Hiko once wore, or will Sugimori Takeshi pull him under Caribbean's annihilating waves? Without further ado, let the match begin!"

"Wait a second," I paused the video, "Didn't you say Yoshida was captain?"

The orange haired boy snatched the remote back. "Yeah, was," he sulked, "Yoshida got put out of the season. Gassan Kunimitsu broke his leg in the second match on purpose when it became apparent they wouldn't win with Yoshida on the field, but they hadn't anticipated Kidokawa's joker." He continued the film before I could ask him for a name.

The team wearing blue uniforms whom I assumed was Caribbean started the kickoff, for I recognized the other team's uniform on my ticket. Naturally I looked for the attractive blonde boy and his red eyed teammate, but I only managed to find the former. He must be who they called Gouenji Shuuya, for I noted that he had an armband that the other members did not wear. As Caribbean's players made their way down the field, one of Kidokawa's members stole the ball and passed it across the field to Gouenji.

I stared awestruck as he jumped into the air and spun within a cyclone of flames just like the picture on the ticket, except there was no way that this could've been photoshopped. As the camera zoomed closer, I felt a tug at my heartstrings, but it wasn't one induced by feelings of a mere crush like when I had first saw him printed on paper. Rather, something about him was _attractive_ ; he possessed that rare quality which inspired and drew one's eyes and heart closer. A moment later, the magnetic pull was broken when his foot collided with the ball. "Fire Tornado!" he shouted as he sent the ball rocketing towards Caribbean's goalie with frightening strength. I squeezed my eyes shut and covered them with my hands.

"Shoot Pocket!" I heard a gruff voice call out. Timidly I took a peek, only to see in astonishment that the ball had been stopped cleanly by Caribbean's tall, imposing goalie. The crowd went wild. As the lens zoomed onto Gouenji's face, his face was that of shock, but quickly shifted back into determination as Sugimori threw the ball back into play.

It was obvious even to me, an untrained eye, that Caribbean heavily overpowered Kidokawa as they easily maneuvered past Kidokawa's defense and made three consecutive points, keeping the ball on Kidokawa's side for the entire duration of the first half as so that Gouenji wouldn't have another chance to shoot. At the last moment, Gouenji made a long shoot across the field and caught Sugimori off guard, ending the first half with 3-1 Caribbean's favor. I was quite aware that it was not in my place to say, and I may just be speaking from inexperienced observations, however from what I'd saw so far, the match seemed quite…boring. If I was to be honest with my opinion, Kidokawa was mediocre at best, even if Gouenji could make ballistic shoots. How could they have ever defeated Caribbean?

As if sensing my doubt, the orange haired boy interjected my thoughts, "Just watch. Kidokawa isn't playing with their full capabilities yet."

"Why not?" I asked innocently, baffled by his words, "Haven't they noticed that they'll lose the match at this rate?"

"Well…" he drawled, lying down backwards, "It's not that they _aren't_ , really. It's more like they _can't_. Of course they know that they would need to play better if they were to move up, but they don't know how to do so." This statement only made me more confused, but he was stubborn to remain reticent and did not elaborate.

Soon, the second half started. A black haired boy I had not noticed before walked onto the field, and the stands went silent. He wore the Kidokawa jersey, but thinking that he was on Kidokawa would've been the last thing on my mind for his own teammates seemed to shrink and back away as he approached his position. An ominous aura fell upon the stadium as he took his place next to the ball for kickoff, and I shivered as dark tentacles slipped out the screen and swallowed my room, pulling me into the world of the field. A shiver ran down my spine, and I realized only after the whistle had been blown that for the first time, even Kakuma was mute. In fact, all was eerily taciturn, save for the inauspicious cries of the circling crows above the pitch.

"Kidokawa's joker…" I whispered as it finally clicked. Beside me the orange haired boy nodded solemnly, but my eyes stayed fixed to the screen. There was no need for clarification of the boy's name, because I had already realized who he was.

 _The other boy on the ticket._

 _The boy with blood for eyes._

I felt a creeping apprehension even though I knew very well that there was nothing to be afraid of when the players were all trapped within the recorded video. However, that did nothing to stop me from wondering if the black haired boy held so much power even before touching the ball, then how powerful would he be when he does?

 _Inoue Shizuro._

The name suddenly held so much weight.


	6. Gates of Horn

**So uh...I know I haven't made any A/Ns for this book yet, and I'm sorry that the first message you'll see from me would be on such a serious subject, but about a week ago, one of my friends passed away. Her kindness and undiscriminating compassion has been a fundamental support of who I am and where I am today, so I'd like to dedicate this chapter to her. Dear Caroline, I hope you are in a happier place, and may you forever rest in peace.**

The the world around me disappeared, and I was no longer sitting next to the orange haired boy in my hospital room, but standing alone on the field with the players of Caribbean and Kidokawa Seishuu.

Despite the power that Inoue had seemed to hold when he walked onto the pitch, the game resumed very normally, dare I even say, disappointingly, as he made the kickoff to Gouenji who then started dribbling the ball down the field. Like me, the other team's players didn't seem to quite know what to make of the situation, for they didn't move in to stop him. Their faces reflected an image of unsureness as their eyes darted back and forth from Gouenji, Inoue, and their captain.

I turned my attention to Caribbean's captain. What was he going to do in this situation? Gouenji, who had been easily readable earlier, had now too became quite incomprehensible like his black haired teammate, leaving me no clues to speculate on what would happen next even if I did know the outcome of the match already.

A second passed. Two seconds.

The captain's face twitched. A miniscule drop of sweat, what should have been too fine for me to see from the distance between us, fell from his profile.

Another second.

I saw the tiny droplet hit the ground and heard a clear _plink_. Caribbean's captain's countenance hardened as he swiped his arm to the side aggressively, barking, "Defense! Mark thirteen! Mids, take the ball from ten just like we did in the first half and move down to make another point!"

They moved into position as per their captain's orders. When ganged up three on one, the ball was easily stolen, but Inoue swiftly cut in and passed to one of his own midfielders, who then kicked it right back as soon as the black haired boy broke free Caribbean's players as if he would afraid the ball was a bomb that would explode any second. Inoue continued down the field with no concern like a well connected circuit.

The defense, all four of them assembled in place having received prior warning from their captain, quickly surrounded him as he treaded into shooting zone. All five boys stopped, observing each other with challenging stares. Finally, the smallest of the four defenders wavered for a split second as Inoue's red eyes flickered over him. Locking eyes with the boy in the way a predator would look at its prey right before it pounced, Inoue charged towards him. At this I tried to close my eyes, but found myself unable to do so in the face of Inoue's paralyzing aura.

The two bulky defenders next to him moved closer into the circle to cover up for the weak spot in their defense. But rather than charging through the defense as I thought he would do, he feinted and dipped to the side which was now left free from when the defenders shifted closer together, breaking out of the defenders' trap in one easy step and leaving himself free to shoot at the goal.

"Sto-" Caribbean's captain didn't have enough time to finish his phrase before the ball shot across the field at unbelievable speed. A large gust of air and a torrent of black feathers exploded from said shoot, and I held my arms up to shield myself.

In the blink of an eye, the ball was behind Sugimori.

 _Not because he had been unable to stop the ball, but that he was not given enough time to react_ , I noted.

Interesting.

Caribbean's players quickly shook off the shock of the point and tried to counterattack, only for the ball to be taken back once again by Inoue. This time, his shoot held much less power and swerved too high to make an accurate goal. A misstep? Like me, the crowd seemed to let go of the tense breath they had been holding earlier. Inoue Shizuro no longer seemed like the demon he had been presented as, but rather just another player.

I learned a moment after that I had been too quick to judge when Gouenji, who had made his way down to the goal while everyone had their focus on Kidokawa's other striker, leaped into the air after the ball, enclosing it once again in a cyclone of fire. However, instead of kicking it towards the goal, he stopped 180 degrees short and sent it back towards his own side of the field.

"What is this?! Has Gouenji Shuuya lost his mind and is now trying to make an own goal?!" Kakuma shouted into his microphone.

All eyes in the stadium including mine followed the ball, only to be met with surprise that rushing forward to intercept it was Inoue Shizuro. "Phoenix Feather!" he shouted as his leg made contact with the ball. At first it did not look like he would have the capability to deflect Gouenji's Fire Tornado, but he grunted and black feathers sprung out once again from his foot. As the ball reversed itself and cannoned towards Caribbean's goal with Gouenji's power and Inoue's speed, the feathers caught on fire one by one as if they were candles lit in a row by the trail of fire the ball left behind. I couldn't tear my eyes away from reverence at this unexpectedly beautiful combination of two shoots from two strikers that couldn't have been any more different.

Prepared for the speed after witnessing Inoue's first shoot, Sugimori managed to activate another move with a glowing gold fist. He struggled for some while with the flaming ball, but ultimately gave in. Luckily, his punch sent it off course and it bounced out of the range of a goal after hitting the crossbar.

All around me the crowds were roaring, Caribbean was jumping and celebrating, and Kakuma was screaming ecstatically something incomprehensible over the cacophony, but the only thing I could focus on was Inoue Shizuro's peculiar demeanor. He looked dispirited, but it didn't seem to be because they hadn't made the point. The rest of Kidokawa also quieted down and murmured amongst themselves, occasionally sending chary glances at the black haired boy, though of course at their volume I could hear no word of their conversation over the dissonance.

Seeing his friend's distress, Gouenji jogged over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, comforting him words I could not hear though the concern reflected in his eyes showed enough of how much he cared. Inoue Shizuro didn't reply, but pushed Gouenji's hand off and turned the other way.

I swore that I saw his lips forming the word, " _Sorry_ ," before he walked away.

The game resumed once more, but this time, I could tell that something was different with Inoue Shizuro. Perhaps it was something in his eyes, or the way he now moved with more effort in his plays, but I realized that the boy I saw earlier had been a shadow of who Inoue Shizuro really was. It was only now did I start to see a small glimpse of why Kidokawa feared this player.

Whenever he made passes, they passed it right back, and if nobody was open, he would simply clear the path by blowing everyone away with a single kick. If they were too close or standing directly in front of him, he would resort to ruthlessly knocking them over like a domino with the soccer ball.

Beneath his feet, the ball became a tool for killing.

"Come at me!" Sugimori challenged, slapping his palms together and falling into a defensive stance.

A strange expression came about Inoue's visage. He slowed down into a walk as he approached the goalie box. "You forced me to," the black haired striker whispered, and he flicked up the ball. As it spun hypnotically, bloodstained cherry blossom petals swirled around it and a soft tune of organ notes began a familiar serenade.

As soon as the first chord touched my ears, my breath caught in my throat, and I felt myself suffocating once again just like in my dreams of being buried alive. _It's not real_. I blinked hard, but the hospital room did not return. Desperately I tried to turn and run away, but I was too late. Instead of shooting at the goal, Inoue Shizuro turned towards me once again with those sad, unreadable eyes and all became black.

 _Somewhere Else, Third Person POV_

Kageyama Reiji grinned when he heard the secret back doors opening, signifying the arrival of the boy he had been waiting for. With a heavy thud, it shut behind his visitor, enclosing both of them in the dark room.

Once they were within the privacy of his soundproof walls, the boy called out to him sweetly, his voice echoing like a tiny drop of water within an untouched cavern. The diminutive giggle laced in the address did not go unnoticed by said addressee, though he did not comment upon the inappropriate tone of inquiry, for there was no reason to play their parts when both were fully aware and no others were present.

"You're back later than I expected."

He did not turn his chair around from the 2-D holograms. He had no need to; the golden crosses mounted on the wall above served as a mirror well enough. Unlike the only other two ZPCs who had the honor of ascending above the earth and entering the Commander's office, this boy did not kneel, but rather chose to stand, which Kageyama never failed to find amusing and frankly, such a refreshing change from the two First Comrades. The boy's face and body were hidden by a dark red cloak identical to that of the one ZP1C1 wore, but looked much longer due to his comparatively short stature. Wisps of wavy mahogany escaped his drawn hood almost as if testing Kageyama's patience, or perhaps simply to shove in ZP2C1's face that he was exempt from Commander's rules.

The boy dismissed the comment politely. "I stopped for tea with the flowers."

Kageyama saw through the boy's woodwork body into his pulsating heart, which pumped a purple ichor mixed from blue blood and his passionately vulnerable red humor. He was as transparent to the great man that had seen him grow up into a handpicked soldier in front of this throne as the creek in his hometown, of which green stones winked from the riverbed at all who would stop to hear their story.

The boy saw this pride in his creation as a mirror, and thought of himself accordingly. Above all, he believed he was _special_ , for he was the only comrade that saw himself in his reflection.

"Are all where they should be, doing what they should?"

He smirked victoriously as he heard the boy reply affirmatively in a sing song voice no less wicked than his own.

He was not afraid of a flower crown, when the boy wore a bejeweled crown of thorns.

 _Hakuchou's POV_

"...ee-san…"

Huh?

"...uishou-san!"

I strained my ears.

"Nee-san!"

At this, a jolt of consciousness rushed through me and my eyelids flew up. However, instead of seeing a field of blue and red jerseys I saw the familiar ceiling of the hospital and two familiar faces peering down at me. "Hiraga-san? Er…"

"Amemiya-san," Hiraga offered. "Just call me Taiyou, everyone does," the orange haired boy said chipperly. I nodded distractedly.

"What happened?" I asked, crawling up into a sitting position.

My company frowned. "Amemiya-san came and got me as soon as he said you fainted. Around halftime, if I'm not mistaken." Taiyou nodded earnestly, confirming the truth of the statement.

"But I-" I stopped as I heard a whistle and realized that the television was still playing, though the match had just ended. The scoreboard read a terrifying score of 12-3 as Inoue Shizuro walked away from the goal where a sobbing Sugimori kneeled, trembling in fear.

Had the match I saw all been a dream?

"Nevermind," I said quickly, wanting to catch the last commentaries on the match. While Hiraga fussed and Taiyou jabbered, the only thing my brain registered was how Kakuma addressed Inoue Shizuro.

So they called him Death Bringer, huh? Quite a fitting nickname, if I do ironically say so myself.

A small dry chuckle escaped my lips as I plucked a stray black feather from my silver locks and crushed my fist around it, but it slipped through my fingers and drifted to the floor.


	7. Red Pill, Blue Pill

Before I knew it, three months had passed since that day I first snuck out to the rehabilitation room. With these extra practice sessions, it didn't take long for me to soon ditch the wheelchair, then finally, ecstatically, the crutches too. Gouenji-sensei diagnosed that I had successfully made a full recovery, but despite Hiraga and Yuuichi's congratulations, I did not feel satisfaction at my accomplishment whatsoever. When I confided in Gouenji-sensei about how I did not feel up to my pre-crash self despite the diagnose, he made a throughout examination but concluded that I was indeed in perfect condition. However, once I told him that I used to be a dancer, he suggested that the reason I probably felt much weaker than before was because I had not stretched or exercised for five months.

But that was only the least of my worries right now. Because I had been deemed well enough to be released, though in actuality they would still keep me around in the hospital to monitor my prosthetic progress, my top priority was to find a school that would accept me in the middle of the school year. Of course my first choice had been to go back to Yokato, my old school, but Gouenji-sensei and Hiraga pushed me to at least consider and apply for a few schools located regionally. I wouldn't have bothered because I had full confidence that Yokato would let me back in due to their scarcity in students, but Gouenji-sensei and Hiraga hinted that if I really were to return to Yokato, then they would also have to relocate to a hospital in Fukuoka in order to accommodate me, and so guiltily I found myself filling out repetitive application forms to random Tokyo schools.

 _Tengawara Junior High, Mikage Sennou, Raimon Junior High, Kasamino Junior High…_

I sighed as I flopped down on the lap desk. This was absolutely pointless. It wasn't like I was going to accept any of these schools in the end anyway, for I already had my mind set on salvaging whatever of my old life I had left. Even if it meant disappointing Gouenji-sensei and Hiraga and making their family move for my choice, but it was their choice to work in the hospital, so they should be responsible of swallowing what they bit off. I on the other hand hadn't been given a choice.

A blonde boy jogged up to two players in juniper green on the television screen as shadows gathered in the air around him, cloaking the three players in an ominous shroud. " _And Yoshida finally brings out his original hissatsu! How will Gassan Kunimitsu try to regain control of the game?"_

Taiyou had lent me a couple Football Frontier tapes, and I had made it into the habit to play them frequently. The tournament's involvement with the loss of my family had a hypnotic effect that drew me to it. As I sulked in boredom and contemplated whether or not I should keep filling out the applications to give my doctor and nurse a false sense of hope, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," I quickly sat up and straightened the papers to make it look as if I had been seriously putting effort into composing them. I remembered to turn off the television right before the door opened.

Hiraga walked into the room with a tray of breakfast like she always did at this same time every morning, however there was an extra buoyancy in her salmon bob from the way she walked today, which I could not tell whether it was from the fact she thought I had been so diligently working on my applications, or because of another matter.

"Thank you," I smiled graciously as I accepted the tray and inhaled the delicious aroma. In reality there was only a small bowl of rice with various other small sides, but to me it tasted like heaven. It had already been awhile since my diet had been switched from hospital jellies to normal, light food, but I still retained the same amount of enthusiasm for it every time. Never again, I swore to myself, would I ever eat anything mildly resembling that of the accursed jello ever again if I could help it.

"Aren't you going to open the letter?" Hiraga's impatient voice broke my feeding frenzy, and I looked up at her blankly with a stuffed mouth. She pointed next to my bowl, where two envelopes laid in place of where usually would be a white water lily from my indefatigable guardian angel.

 _Don't tell me…!_

I tried to quickly swallow my food, but ended up choking on it. After washing it down with a large gulp from the cup of water, I picked up the envelopes. The one on top was sealed traditionally with stamped wax, while the other… Upon seeing it, I completely forgot about the whimsical delight I had found earlier in a simple bowl of rice and promptly tore it open.

"No, the other-"

"Yes!" I shouted as I scanned the contents of the letter inside and felt my mood skyrocket.

 _Dear Suishou Hakuchou-san,_

 _Yokato Junior High welcomes you back with warm regards. Please make arrangements of the day you would like to start two days in advance so that we would have everything prepared…_

I paused, and my eyes widened as I realized for the first time how close I actually was to finally go back home.

"C-can I?" I asked Hiraga timidly.

She furrowed her brows and sighed "I really think you should reconsider, or at least wait after you send in those papers and get acceptance letters back from a few other schools, but if that's what you really want then I'm not going to stop you."

Her response, how she made no effort to put up a fight despite the weight of the sacrifice, surprised me. _Pathetic_ , I thought instantly, but then realized that those were not my true feelings towards her noble behavior at all. Rather, I was confused. And that made me turn towards misdirected anger at how her maturity contrasted the selfishness I had tried so hard to justify.

"Why?" I couldn't help but ask.

My outburst seemed to catch her off guard. She thought over it as a few tense seconds passed between us, then finally replied, "It's your life, and if this really makes you happy, then I shouldn't be one to stop you even if I don't agree with your choice."

At this point I knew that I should just thank her and drop the topic, but I found my mouth to be quite disobedient. "You'll be leaving behind your home, just so that I can go back to mine. Doesn't that make you want to stop me from making this choice even a little?!"

I gasped and quickly shut my mouth, but it was too late, for my words clearly impacted her as much as I had unintentionally wanted them to. An expression of shock, disbelief, and even a little shame floated in her tangerine orange eyes, or was that of disappointment? I could not tell, for I was breathing heavily, scared of the consequences now that I had finally voiced aloud my true thoughts.

 _Why hadn't I just accepted her answer earlier? Now she'll be even more against the idea of me returning to Yokato Junior High._ As I sat in mourning of my wasted good luck, I did not notice the gentle hand approach me until it laid on my shoulder. Hesitantly, I looked up thinking that I'd be faced with- actually, I didn't really know what to expect. I had completely been out of line earlier, and now I feared that she, too, would not hold back anymore.

But on the contrary, she smiled softly. When I met her eyes, I noticed the crinkle of sadness in her eyes. "I'm so-," Hiraga cut off my apology by holding a finger to my lips.

"I know. And I understand your frustration. But me and Gouenji-sensei are here for you, and we only want you to be happy after all that you've been through. We don't mind moving, if you really do decide to return to Yokato Junior High."

I sat, stunned for a moment. Then I promptly tackled her with a hug.

 _Time Skip_

"Ah, good morning, Suishou-san. I didn't know you were coming today," Tsurugi Yuuichi smiled from his bed over a soccer magazine as he saw me open the door.

"Sorry to bother."

"No, no, you're always welcomed," he gestured to the chair beside his bed, "Come right in."

For some strange reason, ever since I bumped into him in the training room that day, we'd often see each other when we were there. Yuuichi and I had actually gotten quite close over these three months since we had met despite our age differences, and we would often take turns visiting each other.

"Let me guess…" he said, eyeing my ecstatic expression, "You're going to be discharged?"

"Yes!" I squealed, "I'm leaving for Fukuoka tomorrow!"

He flashed me a warm smile. A rush of guilt coursed through me, as I suddenly realized that even if Yuuichi was truly happy for me, he would still be stuck here while I went on. From what I could piece together from the details that slipped out of the talks we had, the only way to cure Yuuichi's cripple was with surgery, which his family could not afford. Before I knew it, words had tumbled out from my mouth, words that I would not normally say because they came deadly close to the glass shards we knew not to step on. "When I get better, I promise I'll find some way to pay for your operation."

My eyes accidentally flickered to his lame legs. A melancholic shadow came across his eyes, though the smile did not leave his face.

"You don't have to pity me, Suishou-san. I'm happy having someone to talk with these past months already."

"No," I insisted, grabbing his hand, "You don't have to deny it! I know that you'll never be truly happy unless you can get out of here." In the heat of the moment, my volume had worked its way up. I stared deeply into his eyes, my own set. _I'll save you. I'll break your cage so you can spread your beautiful wings and fly._

I wasn't sure how long the silence that passed between us lasted as I witnessed a palette of emotions shift through his eyes. I hoped, _prayed_ , that he would realize I held these words with a pledge, not pity.

He lowered his head. "...Thank you, Suishou-san."

A few more deep, taciturn moments went by before I suddenly realized that I was holding his hand tightly. "Sorry!" I blurted, flustered, as I quickly withdrew them, but the indigo haired boy held on. "Yuuichi-kun?" I asked, concerned, anxiety seeping into my voice, "What's wrong?"

Another brief pause elapsed before he finally raised his eyes to meet mine. The seriousness they carried caught me off guard. "I want you to hear me out seriously. I'm sorry I might rain on your parade, but this is something I've been thinking about," Yuuichi said slowly. A mixture of confusion and panic shot through me. What was he talking about?

"You mentioned about attending Yokato Junior High before right?" he continued, "I asked around the other patients and nurses and found out that Yokato was located in Fukuoka. But if you came from Fukuoka, why were you taken to the Inazuma General Hospital, located a whole region away?"

My eyes widened. This was a matter that I had always wondered myself, but never questioned. Perhaps it was because Inazuma General Hospital had better institution, or that I needed to be near the monitoring of Gouenji Katsuya, I always tried to tell myself. Until now, I had only dismissed it as a matter of something I didn't need to concern myself with.

"The car crash. The car crash was in Tokyo," I whispered. But hearing the words sounded like I was trying to rationalize with myself.

Yuuichi was talking faster now, and every word felt like another blow, unraveling the fake story I had tried to bury everything under. "Also, and please excuse me for bringing this up, both of your parents died right? Human experimentation is illegal without legal consent, and you for sure did not give the consent for your prosthetic operation. Not to mention, a minor cannot lawfully give consent. So who could have done so in your place?" Yuuichi's eyes narrowed, sending a shiver down my spine. "Sure the hospital might get past the law saying that it was the only measure they could've taken to save you from death, but who is signing the agreement, contracts, and bills for all the treatment that they are giving you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to pull back my hand, but he held firm. No, please stop, I don't want to hear anymore. Let me forget this entire discussion and keep playing the game of pretend. You can't get hurt in a world of lies, but a world of truth would leave you bleeding to death.

"Look, Suishou-san, just listen. I know you don't want to think about it, especially since today's supposed to be a happy day for you. But I'm only saying this for your own good."

I knew what the words would be before he even said them aloud. However I made no attempt to block them out, because the evidence was clearer than day and absolutely undeniable.

" _Too many things don't add up. This is not just a coincidence."_


	8. No Place Like Home

_Time Skip To Next Day_

"Wait up, Suishou-san!"

I spun on my toes and turned around, an illuminated smile hanging on my face. The stars reflected in my eyes shone brighter than the shimmering sunlight that bounced off my long silver hair whipping in the wind.

"Hurry up, Hiraga-san!" I laughed and called back, bouncing up and down on my feet in glee.

We had finally made it to Fukuoka after a long car ride. Hiraga didn't bring much: just a medium carry-on for her necessities and a few boxes in the trunk. Gouenji-sensei on the other hand had to relocate his entire family, so I'd been told that he'd arrive the next day in a moving van.

"Help me carry these into the apartment," Hiraga groaned as she hauled the boxes out of the trunk.

After struggling for a few hours and receiving dirty looks from many of Hiraga's new neighbors which I guessed was probably due to the ruckus we made as we hauled her luggage up the stairs, we finally brought all the boxes into her apartment. "Nee," I asked excitedly as I saw the clock and an idea formed in my mind, "Can I go visit Yokato Junior High?"

Hiraga frowned as she started unpacking the boxes. "Don't you want to rest?" she asked, her lips twisting as she strained to scrape away the heavy duty duct tape, "You'll be starting school there again tomorrow anyway, and we've just had a twelve hour ride. Shouldn't you take a nap first?"

Truth be told I had slept through the entire car ride, but because she had been the one pulling an all nighter in the driver's seat, I dared not mention that little tidbit of information. "Please?" I begged, channeling my best inner-Taiyou.

It must have worked, for Hiraga sighed and replied, "Check in to the hospital before it gets dark." I'd nearly dashed out the door before she called after me threateningly, "If you aren't there by the time the sun sets I'll call the police to search for you!" "Okay!" I shouted back, but by then I had already ran down the stairs and out of the building.

Twenty minutes or so later, a looming, dusty orange building came into view. The campus was barren, but a bustling energy radiated from it. Through windows I saw familiar faces and silhouettes, ranging from the girl who was my science lab partner to the one teacher who had still been pregnant when I had last saw her.

 _What else changed these months while I was gone? Had they been quick to forget me, or are they still waiting for my return?_ I pushed the doubts out of my mind with the excitement that I'd finally be reunited with my friends, and they for one would definitely have not forgotten me.

I closed my eyes and inhaled the familiar scent that permeated the walls and lingered on the school grounds.

" _Home,"_ I whispered. The breeze carried the words from my lips into the sky.

Perfectly on time, a chiming echoed through the building, signalling that the school day had ended. It only struck me now how strange it was that such a simple thing could sound like such a beautiful harmony to ears that have experienced what it felt like to be torn from its own world and thrown into another. This epiphany made me feel like I had perhaps grown up a little from what turn of fate I'd suffered in the last few months.

I moved to the side as thundering footsteps approached and broke the floodgates, filling the anterior school grounds with boys and girls in beige, white, and periwinkle. However, there was a serious shortage of upperclassmen from what I remembered, and a lot of unfamiliar faces all with that unsure, excited expression I knew all too well. I hadn't noticed until now that my first year of junior high had passed while I was stuck in the hospital, and the thought that I'd never experience that romantic cherry blossom filled graduation as a first year made me feel a longing sadness.

Among the mass I recognized a few acquaintances wave, but I was too busy scanning through the crowd for a certain person to do any more greeting than wave back distractedly. I knew I stood out quite a bit because I was the only teen in this vicinity who was not wearing the Yokato uniform, but I figured that could only help my case in getting the attention of the person I was trying to reunite with.

Suddenly, I noticed an uneasy aura settle as the people around me moved away. I scanned around to search in vain for the cause of the reaction until I heard masculine voices from a few meters away.

"Kuroda, is that _Suishou Hakuchou_?"

"No way, Kasayama! Kuroda couldn't have gotten someone with a face like _that._ "

"I can't tell from here, but she definitely looks a lot of Suishou. Don't remember if she was always this pretty though, so maybe it's someone else. Go ask her Kuroda!"

Finally, I heard the man himself's voice as he was pushed forward by his buddies as he stuttered, "W-wait but we-,"

The flustered tone with which he spoke with made a deep sense of satisfaction rise from the fissure he had cleaved in my heart, and I couldn't resist the urge anymore to turn around and give him a blast of surprise. Oh, the expression on his face is going to be so priceless, I can already see it in my head.

"Hey _Yarimichi_ - _kun_ ," I sang as I locked eyes with him daringly, "Did you miss me so much that you're embarrassed to come say hi?"

At my words a hush befell upon the onlookers that had stayed to watch the drama as soon as they recognized the history and status between me and Kuroda. Many who saw the crowd forming dragged their friends over to see what was going on, and before I knew it, the entire class of Yokato Junior High had gathered to watch the reunion between the couple rumored to have broken up hysterically in the back of the school.

I had not wanted a _mob_ to form, to be honest, only perhaps a small audience to humiliate Kuroda in front of. Mainly I had just really wanted to make a fool of him in front of his friends. But now that we had became the main event, it was too late to pull out.

Instead of panicking however, twisted thoughts tickled my mind, asking me haughtily, " _Doesn't he deserve it?"_ A demon seemed to enter my body as I licked my lips and grinned. " _I'm going to relish this unpredicted development and pay you back for what you dare did to me, spreading rumors to the soccer team and ruining my reputation,"_ I heard a voice, no, my own voice, almost unrecognizably but at the same time plaintively mine, say inside my head.

Kuroda appeared taken aback, just like how I wanted him to wickedly deep down. An unfamiliar thrill pulsed through my veins, dangerous yet exhilarating.

 _So this is how power tastes like._

I love it.

"Suishou Hakuchou," Kuroda replied flatly. "Hm?" my devious grin grew as I saw his eyes dart over my face, scrutinizing the perfect symmetry that the surgeons gave me from the car crash, and the only good thing to have came out of the incident. This feature which I once saw as a mockery of my inhumanness now became something I proudly flaunted, and his starstruck reaction only boosted my ego, encouraging me to continue in this game of a full cat toying with its mouse.

"Don't tell me-," his eyes suddenly widened and his nostrils flared in anger, surprising me. His demeanor shifted from that of wariness to anger and harsh disapproval, making my confidence waver for a second. "Hm?" I inquired again sweetly.

His face grew frighteningly red and I stumbled a few steps back, flinching as he exploded, "To think that we were so worried all this time you disappeared and went to the hospital it was over what happened at the back of the school, for something so shallow as-"

"Haku-chan!" a girly, soprano voice abruptly injected itself between me and Kuroda's onslaught. I gasped. A lissome girl with delicate curves and scintillating bubblegum pink eyes squirmed through the suffocating crowd and tackled me into a hug. The wind blew her glossy mocha hair over my face and into my gaping mouth, but instead of detaching myself from the mess as I would've four months ago, I paused and inhaled her citrus shampoo, burying myself in the present.

It had been so long since I'd ever feel so at peace, so at home, so truly blissful and happy. In that moment all thoughts of Kuroda dissipated.

A few seconds later, my lungs finally couldn't take it anymore. "Mi-Mi-Misa-chan!" I squealed, choking, "Y-you're suffocating me!"

After one last squeeze, as if she was reluctant to let go, my best friend finally pulled back from the hug. However that wasn't necessarily an improvement, because she immediately started shaking me vigorously.

"Oh my god we have so much we need to talk about-" Hashimoto Misako stopped mid gush as if only noticing our surroundings now, and straightened up to survey the hesitant crowd. "Go on," she said loudly, sending a glare around in a manner that was clearly a challenge to Kuroda by pretending he was not here. The spectators squirmed and shrunk back at her presence, but did not disperse. They looked warily back and forth from her and Kuroda, who seemed to be quite annoyed by the sudden interruption.

"Go on," she said again, louder this time, "What are you all standing here watching for?"

The blaring of loud trumpets made me jump as fanfare suddenly played from outside the ring of spectators. "What is-" I couldn't finish my question before a row of boys, all with a heart pin on their shirts or vests, split the sea of students and uniformly marched in to form a barricade around us.

It got even weirder. The boy who had led the parade held up a megaphone. "Our lady has spoken!" his voice rippled over the crowd. "Shoo! Shoo!" the boys chanted together in a manner I couldn't decide between militaristic or cultish.

"Let's go!" Misako whispered and dragged me, still dumbstruck, through an opening the boys created while they continued to shield us and distract the crowd as so they would not see us pull the slip.

It wasn't until we stepped foot onto the local neighborhood park, Yokato Junior High far behind us, did we finally stop running to catch our breaths. "...What _was_ that?" I rephrased my earlier question through bent over gasps. Misako held up a finger, but as soon as we raised our heads and our eyes met, we bursted into immediate laughter.

"That was my fanclub," she confessed, panting, as she wiped a laugh-induced tear away from her eyes. I instinctively raised my hand to do the same, but stopped mid wipe when I remembered that my tear ducts were severed by the crash and the surgeons had never bothered to replace it with artificial ones. Awkwardly, my hands dropped back to my sides.

Right when I had felt normal, forgotten _what_ I was, I just had to be reminded of how I would never again be able to stand in front of the people from my past life as the me of the old world.

"Oh," I replied. Then the words processed in my head. "Your _fanclub_?" I choked and shouted incredulously, "Since when did you have an army of apes calling you princess?"

Uncharacteristically, Misako lowered her head. "When I was chosen, I wished the world that you were next to me, Haku-chan. I hadn't wanted it to be this way," she said softly.

Her words didn't make any sense to me. "Chosen? What are you talking about, Misa-chan?" An important detail was definitely missing, but my brain could not work around to what it was.

A kittenish smile played on her plush lips, but curtains were drawn over the windows of her soul. "My wish came true, Haku-chan," Misako said wistfully, "I'm an idol now. I signed with Kokoro Records."

As I searched through her melancholic eyes, I realized that contrary to what she presented herself as feeling, she really was happy about this achievement. But clouding it was the guilt of breaking a promise, the one we had made when we were young about becoming idols together. Guilt of abandoning all those times we had saved and pooled our allowances together to buy train tickets just so we could go to an audition in the next prefecture. Guilt of all those years we had brainstormed how we would live our celebrity lives and fantasized about the pretty clothing, guilt of shattering the dream of having each others' back and soaring into the beyond to reach the stars.

 _Together._

But shining through the thick fog like a lighthouse was a plea for my blessing.

 _Not forgiveness, but acceptance._

Of course I was hurt; my childhood and dreams had just been destroyed after all. But then I considered the promise we had made: was it really what _we_ wanted, or was it what _she_ wanted?

Misako was always the one who loved to sing. In elementary school, she would be the lead singer whenever there was an open house. She was the one who took voice lessons every week, who was careful about everything she put into her body to retain an image that could sell. I was the chorus swan who danced around her. Literally.

Singing was never something I did because of love. Sure it was fun, but I didn't feel the same intensity for it as I did with ballet. We used to joke that we were the perfect duo because Misako could sing and I could dance, but now she didn't need me anymore.

The only thing I could do now, not as her toes, but as her friend...is to be happy for her.

 _Even if it broke my heart that we were separated by another world once again._

"Congratulations." Mixed feelings washed over me, but they were only lulling soft waves, I told myself. They were only gentle tides. Soft waves, gentle tides. I smiled, even though I couldn't tell whether it was genuine or not.

Misako's eyes crinkled and her grin broke out into an ecstatic expression as she tackled me into a hug once again. "Thank you," I heard her whisper into my ears. I squeezed her tight.

Finally she pulled away. "Now tell me why you didn't answer my texts, Haku-chan," my best friend demanded angrily, "I was worried sick for you! I thought something serious happened! The teachers told us that you were hospitalized, but I couldn't find you in any of the hospitals in Fukuoka. It was like you just disappeared!"

Horror sank in as I realized that I had completely forgotten to contact Misako whatsoever during my stay at the hospital. Sheepishly, and hoping that she would be forgiving due to my circumstances, I explained, "My phone was ruined in the car crash."

Misako froze. "Car crash?" she asked delicately, "Didn't you leave for plastic surgery?"

I stiffened. The cold voice that escaped my lips didn't sound like mine, but Misako wasn't being herself either; my best friend would never believe in such a story. "Did you really believe Kuroda?"

"But you look so different," Misako knit her eyebrows and cocked her head as she squinted her eyes, "Prettier, but not really. Like, artificial pretty."

Subconsciously I felt my face, letting my fingers run over the poreless skin and through its perfectly molded ridges and crevices. "Do I still look like me?"

"Yeah...but you don't look like Suishou Hakuchou, you know what I mean?"

"Not at all," I deadpanned.

If she could, Misako would have anime-tripped. Picking herself up, she grimaced, "If I were to hold a picture of you four months ago and compare them, it'd be pretty similar." Then she narrowed her eyes. A shiver crept down my spine as their intensity reached the degree of piercing.

"But you're not _you."_

I stood dazed by her unexpected sentence. I didn't know what to make of it, to be honest. Speaking of which, honesty sounded like a good idea right about now.

I grabbed Misako's hand and stared back into her eyes, pouring the earnesty from my heart into my eyes, hoping that it would convey through my eyes. "Promise me that you'll keep quiet about what I'm about to tell you, alright?" I asked seriously.

Surprise reflected in Misako's eyes, but she gestured zipping her lips with her other hand and held up her pinky. We locked fingers.

"Remember how I sent you a picture of tickets to the Football Frontier finals?" She nodded. "Well…"

"Wait, you were a victim of that car crash?! I saw it on television! You were the girl that was sent into a coma?"

"Coma?" I scrunched my eyebrows. Strange, that it would be reported as that, but better than if they had said cyborg rehabilitation I guess. Curious, I asked, "What other casualties were reported?"

Misako frowned and recounted, "One girl comatose, which is you, one boy dead, and the lives of a family of three, if I remember correctly."

I saw my own reflection ripple in her rose pink eyes. Staring back at me was the face of someone who had just seen a ghost. "Misako…" I trailed. "What's wrong," a deep look of concern and anxiety floated over Misako's face, "You never call me Misako."

" _That's my family."_

She gasped. For a moment, both of us didn't know how to react. We were standing on opposite sides of a tightrope, where one move could topple us both, and neither wanted the other to fall.

Finally Misako inched forward. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch my face. "But you're here. Alive," she whispered.

"I...I…" Finally I gave up.

" _I'm a cyborg reborn."_

The rope wobbled violently, and we teetered. That was when I knew that we would either both remain on top, or we would take each other down with us. All it depended on would be who moves first, and whose devotion wavers.

"Misa-chan-" I tried, but on her face sprouted a nasty expression that she had never used to look at me before, an image that would forever be seared into my mind. "Don't 'Misa-chan' me!" she shouted and ripped my hands away, creating fresh wounds on my already marred hands.

She backed up a few steps, trembling, with a look of hatred and fear blatantly revealed. Desperately I looked for a hint, any hint, of the Misa-chan I knew, but found not even a drop had remained. It was as if Hashimoto Misako had made a one eighty degree transformation. There was a rabid look in her eyes, but she glowered at me as if I was the beast.

"Y-you're a freak! Stay away from me!" she stuttered and screamed. With one last resentful glare, Hashimoto Misako turned her back on me and ran, leaving me standing dumbstruck. The only thing I could do was wordlessly watch as her figure shrunk and the shadow connecting our feet grew thinner and thinner.

It was only when she had gotten across the street did she finally stop and turn around, but her farewell hit me like a thousand trucks.

" _You should have stayed dead, Hakuchou!"_

The shadow became two and we fell.

 _Time Skip_

"You're back early," Hiraga chirped, surprised at my return to her apartment. "But I thought I told you to check in-" She stopped as she noticed my reticent, downcast demeanor. I ignored her and flopped myself down on her couch, then curled myself into fetal position with my back to her.

"What happened?" She shook my shoulders, but I hunched into a ball, refusing to reply with anything coherent but a moody grunt.

Hiraga sighed and stood up. "How about I go make you some hot chocolate then?" She took my demotivated grumble as a yes and left the room, probably as an excuse to leave the uncomfortable ambience.

I lied there for a few more minutes, then crawled up to sulk in sitting position when my calf started cramping excruciatingly. However, an ivory envelope on the table next to the couch caught my attention as I struggled to right myself. I picked it up and recognized it as the strange letter I had received the same day I had gotten my Yokato Junior High acceptance letter, but had completely forgotten over the excitement contained in the other envelope.

I flipped the envelope over, but didn't see the name of the sender on the back. I flipped it back and cautiously ran my index finger over the red wax seal printed with a lotus, the only hint I received of my sender's identity. Carefully, I ran my nails around the edge of the seal, careful as so not to damage the precious clue.

A crisp, folded sheet came out easily. I took a deep breath. Then I stilled my trembling hands and opened the letter.

The first words popped up at me in feminine calligraphy, but there was no standard addressing that usually preceded letters. Rather, it read more like a cryptic but notably elegant note.

 _I'm your ally, Hakuchou._

Intrigued, I hurriedly read on, hoping Hiraga wouldn't come back just yet.

 _Don't trust anyone, you can't, not if you want to learn the truth. This is the only piece of information that I can guarantee to be true; you will have to use your judgement on the rest to decide for yourself who or what you want to classify as black or white. But if you trust me, then follow these directions, and it will lead you to the answers._

 _Go to Mikage Sennou and find the the boy like you, another cyborg reborn. Join Mikage's soccer team and move up the brackets of the Football Frontier. Keep winning, and the secrets will not be able to remain secrets anymore. Just remember that you can't trust anyone, Hakuchou. But I'm on your side._

Slowly, a grin broke out on my face as the gears in my head started whirling. After all, what did I have left to lose? "Hiraga-san, pack your bags! Can we stop by the post office on our way back? I need to send in a new application."

 _ **~END OF PART ONE~**_


	9. The Queen's Gambit

**Happy birthday, Cyborg Reborn!**

 _Third Person POV_

"Checkmate." ZP1C1 moved his queen into the opening between the guarding white knight and the white bishop.

The red cloaked boy that sat opposite him brooded for a moment at the board, then broke into a loose grin and chuckled. "I thought you didn't like to use the queen, C1?"

"Do not mistake our restriction for reluctance, C3. Our _kisaki_ is our trump card."

ZP1C3's brow twitched under his hood. However, his was hastily thrown over and did not cover his face as neatly as ZP1C1's, therefore his flashing eyes and momentary scowl were all too visible to his captain. On the contrary, the boy sitting in front of him upheld his concealed visage with stiff lips that either ignored his company's displeasure or shared his company's bitterness, accentuated by an adjacent mole on his right cheek that served as his only identification beside the tattoo that ZP1C3 knew all his comrades bore.

Those stiff lips softened a little and crinkled into what came closest to a smile ZP1C3 saw once in awhile when they were well in the privacy of ZP1C1's room. "We were forced to move our queen up," ZP1C1 commented in a warmer tone in contrast to his previous seriousness infused with the rarest tinge of respect. His recipient grinned back toothily.

ZP1C1 returned his focus to the sixty four squares with pursed lips. A habitual hand rested under his chin as he placed an index finger on the upside down white rook that stood at the border, tipping it dangerously on the edge of its base.

"What are you thinking about?" ZP1C3 cocked his head.

ZP1C1's thoughtful index finger stilled, but he did not switch his attention from the board to his comrade. A couple seconds passed before he replied. "Your queen..." ZP1C1 mused solemnly, "I was wondering if it could have turned the game around."

A victorious grin split across the addressed boy's face. His eyes twinkled with a predatory glint, and he let out a half-chuckle. "You used 'your' and 'I'." His half-assed effort could not conceal the smugness in his voice.

His captain stiffened, but the tone of his voice remained dignifiedly even. "We most certainly did not. This one should not make allegations as irrational as their plays."

ZP1C3's grin widened as he leaned his head onto his propped elbow with slack eyes focused on ZP1C1, lounging across the table in a display that conveyed the message he was clearly unconvinced. "Sure," he drawled, "Whatever you say."

The whites of ZP1C1's eyes flickered momentarily as they caught the dim light before he readjusted his hood. "Anyway, how was practice today?" he continued curtly, "We are sorry we had to retreat early." A swift, subtle tilt of the chin towards the wastebasket filled with fresh, bloody tissues atop crusty wads confirmed ZP1C3's suspicions when his captain had clutched the lower half of his face and quickly left his Second Comrade in charge as he ducked out of the room.

"Oh, ZP1C2 let us go ten minutes after you left and told none of us to bother you for at least four hours," ZP1C3 replied sourly.

The only piece that did not topple or clatter to the floor was the black queen.

"I obviously didn't follow that order." ZP1C3 commented as he bent over to collect the rolling figures. ZP1C1's shoulder slackened and he quickly sat back down. ZP1C3 looked up surprise when he did not receive a response, even though he was accustomed to his friend's withdrawn character. He had expected a snarky but appreciative comeback.

ZP1C1 retrieved a white rook from the floor and examined the varnished wooden figure in his hand. "Still thinking about that?" ZP1C3 piqued. He decided that ZP1C1 must be remaining silent for the sake of grace. He could care less about preserving dignity in each other's presence, but he knew ZP1C1 sometimes did not care about his feelings. Exclusion, disregard, and apathy still stung occasion, like how ZP1C1 insisted on using their titles instead of their names after they were promoted to ZP1, but he had to remind himself that ZP1C1 cared in other ways. That was just the type of person ZP1C1 was. He would be an accommodating friend; ZP1C1 had enough crosses to bear. He would compromise, just as ZP1C1 allowed him to indulge his vengeance in the team his comrade worked so hard to manage. They could truly be like gods, if only they were not bound by human desires.

ZP1C1 flipped the rook. His pale forearm looked almost delicate in the frail light, like a branch of silver birch, against the cardinal dye of his cloak. "Tell us, what is the strongest chess piece?"

"Isn't it the queen?" ZP1C3 asked, furrowing his brows lightly. The answer seemed obvious to him. In his curiosity and confusion, his earlier disdain for the _kisaki_ was pardoned and shoved to the back of his mind.

The faceless lips curled into a smirk at this predicted reply as his fist hardened, and the cloak slipped below his elbows. The lamplight illuminated the pallid limb. "No. The queen may be the most powerful piece on the board, but the king is the chessmaster. We would have won anyway."

A flick of his fingers launched the white queen across the barren board into the black queen, sending both pieces clattering against the far wall.

 _Toyama's POV_

After a long, exhausting day of synthesizing various training activities for Mikage Sennou's competitive soccer team, I pushed the club building key in and was just about to lock up the main entrance when a chilling voice from behind made me aware I had company.

"Leaving already, Toyama-san? Good thing I caught you just in time," a playful voice I knew very well called out. His voice gave away his displacement, but his approaching footsteps were inaudible, as they always were.

"Kisaki-san!" I turned around and tightened my grip on the staff key, concealing the irrational panic in my voice with projected jubilation,"How very nice to have you! What can I do for you today?"

A petite redhead boy faced me, with hands withdrawn in the hoodie pockets of his thin, formfitting black sweater that revealed a slim figure with compact muscles. His head was leveled to complement his reserved posture, but the air he carried around himself with his straightened back was nothing less than regal. A thin coronet braid was pinned over his middle part and drapes of dullen raw silk tumbled down to frame his effeminate features in a shroud of theatrical mystique.

"I need a refill," came the lilting reply. I had always found the contrast between his unchanged voice and his height baffling against his mature face, combined with the professionalism of his demeanor and his childish nature. He smiled at me through long feathery lashes with narrow, simpatico hazel eyes devoid of any solace. His lack of heart marked him a dangerous man, though he would often joke he loved too much.

I forced myself to pocket the key along with my own desires for a pleasant evening, then opened the door and stepped into the entrance. "Of course, of course. Right this way." I started walking without waiting for him. I knew he would be following me, and it was much less awkward to pretend I was walking alone in the silent hallway. The smooth shut of the door behind me confirmed he was officially tailing me like the Reaper in Doc Martens.

A flick of the light switch revealed a small room containing a messy desk littered with papers and my headset, around which was crammed with humming hardware that never slept. A detour behind my desk with a casual flourish of the practiced hand minimized the open tab as I escorted the boy to the back. He walked in front of my desk out of social practice, but I could have sworn I saw him narrow his eyes in my direction. I pretended not to see this. Finally, I lead him to an inconspicuous door in the back.

The little room had initially stored miscellaneous and specialized club equipment in the beginning of my career, but the storage was quickly transformed into one of Kageyama's secret bases in Tokyo. Cardboard crates lined the shelves as a crude disguise for the sinister nature of their contents should a new janitor or curious freshman stumble in.

"Do you have anything else for me today?" my acquaintance hummed curiously as he traced a row of boxes with a dark gray glove, exploring the shelves. From my angle in this lighting, Kisaki's eyes appeared almost green.

I stood close to the doorway, perhaps due to a subconscious yearning to touch the little light I could with my feet in the darkness. "S-Sorry, I've only been receiving only common street dope this month. You wouldn't be interested."

"Common, you say?"

That boy was impossible to read. In many ways, he was so similar to the man behind him. I did not have much doubt he was Kageyama's chosen successor, but I would not be able to answer if asked whether he or Kidou Yuuto was the favorite, for Kageyama never seemed to project any outward signs of affection for Kisaki. As if to compensate for that, Kisaki never hesitated to boast about his relationship with the Commander.

Finally he reached the box he desired. My breath caught in my throat when he quickly drew back as if he had changed his mind. "Where's my lilies?" he demanded, whipping around to glare at me accusingly.

I raised my hands in a panicked attempt to subdue his wrath. "Don't worry, don't worry! They're right here. I had to cover the tank." I rushed to his side and flipped up the thick black fabric that revealed a large, lucent tank behind him. White water lilies bobbed at the surface of the plentiful basin under a light panel, supported by supple stems in the illuminated rose-tinted water. "I've kept to the formula, and Fuyukai-san comes to collect them every day before work," I interjected quickly before he could question me again about my fidelity.

"Good..." Kisaki murmured, taking a lingering glimpse at his cherished flowers before pulling the cover over again, obscuring the modest luminescence we had temporarily been granted. As he turned back to the shelves, he drew out a ziplock bag of innocent white powder from his sweater pocket. "Please hold your breath Toyama-san, for fear the devil steals it," Kisaki teased as he pulled his blue bandana scarf up to cover his nose and reached into the crate. I obeyed.

That man would have my soul someday. But not today.

 **With Ares being out and all, I know we will be receiving more exposition about Zeus, so I would just like to declare in advance that I will be sticking to the context provided in the original canon and my own interpretation.**


	10. Through the Looking Glass

**I would like to thank everyone that has remained loyal to this story throughout my absence. I usually hold myself to a strict policy against editing, but these are necessary changes with minimal quality corrections that I need to make in order to proceed with the plot, which I promise to be epic. Here is a summary to help your navigation.**

 **1\. Nocked has been rewritten and renamed as For the Fairest.**

 **2\. Gouenji Katsuya's dialogue regarding the operation in Tiny Hands, Bloody Hands has been edited.**

 **3\. The gift baskets in Technical Difficulties have been removed.**

 **4\. The light novel Hakuchou read in A Butterfly's Promise has been edited.**

 **5\. Taiyou's dialogue regarding Hiko in A Butterfly's Promise has been edited.**

 **6\. The exchange between Kageyama and the unnamed character in Gates of Horn has been rewritten.**

 **7\. A cameo of Hiko has been added in Red Pill, Blue Pill.**

 **8\. Momo's appearance has been added.**

 **9\. ZP1C1 and ZP1C3's scheme regarding ZP1C2 in The Queen's Gambit has been replaced by alternative dialogue.**

 **10\. The second half of The Queen's Gambit has been extended.**

 **I won't name any names, but to tell the truth, my motivation for changing the title originated from some pretty insensitive comments I received in regards to the original title. After much contemplation, I realized that Cyborg Reborn had never been a story of rebirth, despite the countless times it has been renewed, but a story of reflection, a mirror of the individual and society. Thus inspired by the mirror stage and Snow White, Glass Coffin was born. Now it has come full circle, for reflection must go hand in hand with rebirth; I present this mirror, in hope that you too too can be renewed.**

 _Hakuchou's POV_

I put the finishing touches on my face with an umber eyeshadow stick to imitate pimples I had once spent hours in front of the mirror self conscious over. I had blended my foundation messily underneath to give the impression of a naturally uneven complexion, and imperfectly contoured the curves and crevices of my face to destroy its symmetry. With the monarch butterfly secured onto the side of my head, I no longer peered into the reflection of a cyborg reborn, but the girl properly named Suishou Hakuchou. The hair clip caught a beam of morning light and twinkled gently in the full length mirror like a nudge of acknowledgement. If I had not known better, I would have been fooled into thinking that it had came alive and was stretching its vitreous citrine wings.

I tried a smile and observed how I looked in my new uniform. The brown loafers pinched my toes, but I didn't mind them much. It would only take a week or two to break into them, so I might as well enjoy them before they get scuffed. A heavy, textured gray vest was buttoned neatly over a green jacquard tie and a crisp white blouse, not yet softened from wear like my old Yokato Junior High uniform. The vest fit snugly, but had an unflattering shape that swallowed my torso. I pinched an inch of fabric at my waist to do my best at bringing out whatever little curves I had; I would have to get it taken in as soon as possible. Same with the hem of the matching pleated gray skirt. For now I settled with rolling my waistband thrice to hike it up as a temporary fix, but this ridiculously conservative uniform was simply a waste of youth. The price of this apparel and my tuition were covered with my parents' savings, which I recently discovered I had inherited under the supervision of their lawyer.

It was as if this new start was my parents' parting gift. With one last satisfied nod, I grabbed my issued brown school bag embroidered with the small silver cog that marked me as one of Mikage Sennou's official students and closed the door behind me.

If I had not chosen to board the bus, I would probably have gotten lost, even with the map I brought. As the bus meandered from the suburban Inazuma Town into a gradient of city grays that made my uniform right at home, I soon found myself mentally unable to keep up with the route. At first I tried to memorize the tuns and roads we took, but eventually lost track when we entered the homogenous realm of adult offices and corporate buildings.

There was still a small distance from the closest bus stop to my destination, so I had the wonderful opportunity to break into my shoes. At first I was afraid I would not be able to find my way, but as soon as I stepped off the bus, I spotted students in the same gray vest and skirt combination, all with silver cogs embroidered on their leather bags, making their way towards a common destination like stray paperclips drawn toward a magnet.

A few meters away, a violet haired girl walked alone. Pumping my fists internally for the golden opportunity, I was about to catch up with her until I felt a cold hand tap my shoulders.

I turned my head instinctively, then realize too late that I had just lost my precious chance when I whipped my head back and caught locks of silky lavender disappear around a corner.

I returned my attention to my company. "What?" I snapped. Half a second later, I realized my unintentional rudeness and quickly tried to undo whatever I could. "I'm so sor-"

"Your skirt," he interrupted monotonously, as if he had neither heard nor cared for an explanation of my slip.

"Huh? Wha-"

Once again he cut me off, his voice blatantly advertising an I-don't-care attitude, even though he was the one who had approached me. "Your skirt," he repeated, "It doesn't fit regulations."

My face flushed. "Oh." Feeling dumb and self conscious, I unrolled my waistband and pulled my skirt back to its regular length. These details had always been overlooked at Yokato, heck, it would be hard to find a girl who didn't make improvements or add personal touches. But all of a sudden those quirks seemed immature, my shortened skirt highly inappropriate in this professional environment.

After smoothing out my skirt, I felt much better. "What are you, the dress code police?" I joked.

He stared at me impassively for two seconds, sending unnerving chills up my ceramic spine. "No," he finally replied in a simple tone.

"I didn't mean it literally," I complained under my breath. Once again, he made me feel like I stuck out sorely in this foreign world, and not because I was prosthetically enhanced.

As it turned out, the boy seemed to have a keen sense of hearing, for he replied to my comment in the same unemotional tone. "I don't comprehend." Then he walked away, plum bob swishing haughtily.

And the bell rang.

So I was late.

 _Yay._

 _Time Skip_

I sighed as I walked out the polished school building holding a tray of consisting of meager portions of rice, seaweed soup, fish, milk, and pudding, the student lunch provided today. It was only my first day, and I was already stressed out.

None of the teachers cut me any slack during class or singled me out for being a new student, which surprised me greatly but fell in line with how the boy had treated me in the morning. Some students did ogle, however Mikage Sennou's female population really didn't set the bar very high. And most of them seemed to be more interested in studying or conversing in STEM subjects than discussing the latest trends or gossipping. Well, other than about a transfer student. A transfer student that wasn't me, surprisingly. Apparently, some new guy had also showed up that was all the entire school could focus on today.

He was certainly faring much better than I was.

I walked around the back of the building until I found an empty corner. After sitting down on the ground and setting my tray next to me, I took out Kotori-hime and flipped to where I had last left off. My pathetic sitting arrangements repressed any appetite I had gained throughout the day, and though my stomach grumbled in protest, a few pages immediately shushed them. I felt myself melting comfortably into a familiar world. _I could do this everyday_ , I tried to persuade myself.

"Um, sorry for intruding..." a timid, feminine voice interrupted the queen's monologue. I looked up towards the voice to find a familiar mane belonging to a girl who was even prettier from the front than she was from behind. Her navy doe eyes, set on soft features and pearly skin that could even compete with my impeccable integumentary graft, looked back at me hesitantly.

I quickly pushed down my rising spite. It was just my instinctive envy for her beauty, not some twisted hatred at how she could be so _untainted._

I kept my thumb on the page and closed the book, then smiled at her. "Can I help you?"

"Do you mind if I sit here?" the girl asked, holding an index finger up to her lips unsurely, shrinking like a nyctinastic tulip, "It's Suishou Hakuchou, right?"

I relaxed. The relief I received from the girl's offer overshadowed whatever ill feelings I had harbored towards her just a moment ago. "Yeah," I replied gratefully and scooched aside to offer her a seat, even though she could afford the luxury of choosing to sit anywhere within a ten meter semicircle in this lonely clearing. She took it as a gesture of invitation smartly rather than literally and sat down at a close but comfortable distance.

She pointed politely at my book. "If I'm not mistaken, is that Kotori-hime?"

"Yep!" I lit up from the recognition. In unfamiliar company, finding shared ground was like stepping into an oasis. I pulled up the book cover to show her which volume I was reading. "Are you a fan?"

"I like the series," she giggled demurely, "I'm Kudou Fuyuka by the way."

"Nice to meet you," I smiled back, pushing all the genuinity from my heart into my words.

We spent the remaining thirty minutes of lunch break talking. Overall, Kudou was very courteous and I gradually affirmed the conclusion that she had approached me out of true desire to be my friend. As our conversation delve further, Kudou shared Mikage's reputation as a science and engineering magnet school that had sent off many powerful alumni who provided the main source of funds for Mikage Sennou's state of the art technology. We were also nationally placed for our math and science bowl teams, right up there with elite schools like Teikoku Gakuen and Gassan Kunimitsu. If I had to be honest, I must admit I was quite impressed by all that she told me about Mikage. I had not known they were so accomplished when I filled out those local applications with disinterest.

Kudou also disclosed personal facts, including her participation in the literature club, which made me ponder about my club prospects. Back at Yokato I sang in choir with Misako, but the mere memory of her encouraged feelings I wanted to keep buried. There was no reason for me to continue singing now. I felt a strange lightness at this newfound freedom, but also a settling, hesitant unfamiliarity now that I had to look out for myself because I had no one else.

I clenched my fist around the stiff, crumpled Football Frontier ticket in my skirt pocket. The folded edges were too worn to cut into my flesh.

The reality was that I still grasped wishfully at the fading mist when I was already aware it would never return to my clutch. I knew the shame of my inability to abandon my hopeless past, square my shoulders, and walk ahead when I had already lost everything.

 _Time Skip_

"Excuse me?" I greeted as I stepped into the doors of where I was told to be the soccer building. I had been directed here by a passing member of the track team when I found the soccer field to be vacant. Yokato's clubroom definitely paled in comparison from the exterior; for one, Yokato only had a small isolated clubhouse. This, on other hand, could stand for a small school building all by itself. First things first was to find the soccer club captain or coach. I seemed to have walked into a reception hall of sorts. Wandering around the empty blue halls, I stumbled upon an opened door emitting rowdy, juvenile voices.

I crossed my fingers it was not a locker room and stepped into the doorway.

I found myself in a large, buzzing computer lab of sorts, with sleek analytical equipment that likely inspired the architectural design of Mikage's infrastructure. Some students sat in front of monitors while others rushed around different stations. I suspected some of the discussions were not related to their responsibilities, given how two boys were debating over the proper context to use a particular curse word. Nobody paid me any attention.

Reluctant to interrupt the members of this mysterious club, I wandered tentatively around the edge of the room, peering into screens with curiosity. As I intently observed a girl plot the joints of the one-eyed player from Teikoku Gakuen in a frozen frame, somebody bumped into my shoulder.

"...wonder if he'll join- Ah! I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was walking." A pretty, pink-haired boy blinked at me with inquisitive almond eyes. But what caught my true attention was not his face, rather, his collected composure and balanced proportions, which hinted at an athletic prowess beneath his smart uniform. We spoke at the same time.

" _You-"_

We tried again.

" _You-"_

Apparently we didn't learn.

" _You-"_

"Can you two stop and just take turns like normal human beings?!" the bandaged brunette who he had previously been conversing with interrupted in melodramatic exasperation.

" _I-"_

"No! Okay Arata, ladies first."

I sucked in a breath, prepared to be interrupted again, and finally exhaled when it appeared Arata would indeed stay quiet for the time being. "Do you know where I can find the soccer club coach or captain?" I asked tentatively, hoping my inference about his affiliations were correct.

"I assume by that you mean the competitive team's captain?" Arata asked, "That's me. What's up?"

"Uh-" I stammered. This was a bit awkward. Deciding on what seems like it will be the most efficient course of practice, I finally declared boldly, "Can I join the soccer club?"

The curiosity dissipated from his eyes, which set a vague, damp veil over my shoulders I chose to ignore. "First year? Let me find the lead analyst."

It dawned on me that Arata misunderstood my pursuits. Mikage's soccer club probably consisted of multiple departments, which would explain the non players present and the otherwise unreasonable size of this building. "Actually, I'm interested in the soccer team," I interjected. "The one that competes in the Football Frontier," I added, "And I'm a second year transfer."

A little twinkle returned to his eyes, but he spoke with a tinge of gloomy regret. "I'm sorry I have to tell you that you missed the tryouts for this season. I don't have any problems with you personally, but… Well, if you're dead set on joining _my_ team, I suppose Kantoku did cut two players recently. I planned on hosting new tryouts soon after, but Kantoku has been trying to delay it, although I don't understand why when the Football Frontier will soon begin. I can't give you a good answer, so why don't you ask Toyama-kantoku instead?"

As I was about to ask him to show me the coach, Arata's eyes widened and the room went silent. A gruff voice I had heard before projected from the doorway, "Is this the soccer club?"

Before anyone could muster the guts to formulate a reply, a greasy, loose haired middle age man joined us through a separate door that had previously been closed. The students reluctantly shifted their attention to this figure. He would have lacked presence, if only he did not exude such a slimy character. Arata turned and bowed. "Kantoku."

Then the unexpected coach spoke some unexpected words. "Welcome the new members to your team, Sugimori and Suishou. The arrangements are done." Toyama discreetly waved an ivory envelope with a broken red seal. I met Sugimori's eyes. He had seen it too.


	11. Bread and Circuses

Somehow, I managed to bluff my way through the first practice.

I knew this would not be a good decision in the long run, but I could not bring myself to confess. I had to fight toes and nails in the studio to become a soloist, and I was determined not to start at the bottom again. Keeping up with conditioning was not too bad, and the rest of practice was simply spent in skill studies. By the end of the day, I felt confident enough with the positions I memorized that I managed to return to the hospital having convinced myself I could keep up this charade tomorrow.

I only started panicking when we boarded the school bus after school the next day.

As I was jostled into the parking lot by my teammates and the upperclassmen analysts, I found myself beside the pale boy who had been my first impression of Mikage Sennou. "Where are we going?" I asked dryly, knowing he was not one for jokes. He shot me a two-worded reply that made me to wobble, then jogged ahead too soon before I could ask for an explanation.

I was brought back as it occurred to me this was the perfect opportunity to confirm a few things with Sugimori. But as I tried to locate said boy, I found out so did just about everyone else. And so I ended up beside a player with hikimayu, while Arata made shy smalltalk with Sugimori two seats in front of us on the other side of the aisle. Oh well. I doubted Sugimori knew much more than me about our benefactor anyway. This was also a great opportunity to ask another question only an experienced member of the club could answer.

I turned to my disinterest seatmate with a friendly smile. "Terakawa-kun, right?," I inquired, "Does Toyama-kantoku frequently receive letters in envelopes that are like an off-white color, made with heavy paper and sealed with stamped red wax?" After a moment of consideration, I pulled out my envelope. "Something like this?"

Terakawa gave it a glance. "No, but I can probably still tell you where it came from, if you don't already know it yourself." A rattlesnake's tail flicked at the tip of his tongue.

I carefully contorted into a submissive role, like how I used to please Misako when we were children. "I don't know," I apologized softly, lowering my gaze earnestly, "I'm trying to figure it out. That's why I'm asking."

Terakawa closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, I don't know if you're a spy from Teikoku. Someone obviously pulled strings to earn you and Caribbean's stronghold jerseys here. No offense that I haven't heard your name before, I'm sure you're a brilliant player who will ditch us as soon as you complete your objective. Maybe that man sent you to watch kantoku. Maybe you infiltrated our school to investigate kantoku and Kageyama's connections. I could really care less, to be honest. No one cares about Mikage Sennou's students. Anyway, my guess is that those letters are from Kageyama."

"I care," I objected, but the words pierced my ears like plastic and cut Terakawa's cheek.

His beady eyes twitched as the rattle intensified. He turned the other way. "Go back to the man behind you if you do. Talk to me when my friends and I are valued more than glorified lab rats."

"I-"

...would shut up. Stale protests would not be enough to earn his trust.

When we arrived, I squeezed beside Arata as Sugimori was distracted by some other club members. There was something different about Arata until said captain noticed my presence. "It's nice to have you with us, Suishou-san," he stammered.

"Why are we at Teikoku Gakuen?"

"I should have told you yesterday. It completely slipped my mind, my bad," Arata apologized, then explained, "Mikage and Teikoku are on good terms, so our soccer teams hold practice matches every so often to help each other train."

"It's not quite so mutual if they never have to step outside their grounds," I heard someone mutter on my other side. When I followed the complaint, I could not identify the speaker among my classmates. Arata put a hand on my back and pushed me through the front gate.

The walls of Teikoku Gakuen were as intimidating as its soccer reputation. Gunmetal buildings loomed beside us, creating the illusion of a vignette around the angular tower that grew increasingly impressive as we approached. And I thought Mikage Sennou's facility was fancy; velvet tapestries were displayed at the end of every hall here like its students were actually royalty. Upon closer inspection, I recognized embroidered penguins. I wondered what our mascot was. I opened my mouth to ask Arata, then changed my mind when I saw his face. The serious visage I observed earlier had replaced the warmth I knew once again.

Toyama led us into the elevator that would take us up the tower. After a smooth ascent, we got off at the second to top floor and entered the largest room I had ever set sights on.

To call the place an indoor soccer field would be an understatement. It was a professional-grade stadium complete with rows upon rows of stacked seats, capable of housing an entire school. _No_ , I realized, as stares from the vacant chairs pricked the back of my neck, _it's a stage:_ we were standing in the diamond cage that we had tilted back our heads and squinted past the glare to see earlier. _It's a fighting ring._

 _A contemporary Coliseum._

Toyama pulled me aside when I nearly followed Arata into the boy's locker room. "There's a bathroom in the hallway," he offered.

When I returned with my hair pinned neatly into a ballerina bun and the number sixteen on my back, the rest of my teammates were already gathered on the field. Toyama chased me down once again and handed me a set of wires as he mimed an arc from above his ear to the back of his head. I looked down at the foreign nodes, then at the stretching boys, all of whom had the same device affixed around their head.

"Where's Arata-san?" I noticed. At that moment, Teikoku's team stepped onto the pitch behind the red cape that acted as their flag bearer. Toyama flinched and glanced at a corner of the ceiling as he urgently pushed me towards my peers.

They were indeed the boys on the tickets, in the flesh. The tall boxer with tribal tattoos trained his eyes on the stern Sugimori with a feral grin, who suddenly seemed to grow to new heights in front of my eyes. In fact, most of Teikoku's players had their attention focused on Sugimori. The conclusion sank in that none of us here were any match for any one of the nation's elite, save for Caribbean's ex-keeper.

My eyes landed on Sugimori's armband at the same time as the boy that stood at the top of Japanese youth soccer's. "Nice to meet you, _Captain_ ," he smirked, "How is Shimozuru-kun?"

"Arata-kun will play," Mikage Sennou's new captain growled at the eyes behind the goggles.

"I look forward to it," the boy chuckled cruelly as he turned around, pulling his cape behind him, "Maybe Mikage will finally be able to stop a shoot now. It's a shame that if you were only three years younger, you would most probably call me senpai."

"You flatter me but I politely decline your invitation."

 _ **Formation Four Four Two Grid.**_

I found my legs moving by themselves before I recognized the order. Everyone else headed toward their positions. In a daze, I walked to the bench which the analysts had already claimed and sat down at the end beside the portable satellite dish they had set up.

Arata joined us soon afterward, but he appeared so lifeless that I did not notice his presence until the referee blew the starting whistle. Much to my dismay, his fellow striker did not pay his demeanor any mind, as if Arata's dejection was not worth his attention.

"Shimozuru-kun! Heads up!" a terse taunt cut through the air. Arata raised his eyes too late and met the brunt of Teikoku's pass, which of course hit its target perfectly and bounced into their captain's control.

"Kidou-san, shall we try it?" Teikoku's striker shouted across the field. Kidou planted the ball beneath his foot as he gave it a second of consideration, then licked his lips and grinned.

"Let's go. Sakuma-kun! Jimon-san!"

 _ **Defense Pattern Gamma Three! Hurry!**_

This time I flinched and tore off my headpiece. I was not playing anyway, so it would not matter. Unfortunately, there were not enough players between Kidou and the two players he named for Mikage to take back the ball before the trio closed in on Sugimori.

"Witness our best!" Kidou sneered and held his fingers up to his lips. Upon his whistle, attentive penguins poked their heads out of the ground.

Our keeper gave the creatures an incredulous glance. "Who's afraid of that?" He kept to his word as he charged up for Shoot Pocket, until the two aforementioned forwards made an unpredicted pincer movement behind the ball.

Sugimori hesitated, then brought out the reliable dome at last. "Koutei Penguin 2gou!" Sakuma, Jimon, and Kidou echoed and a ghostly torrent of penguins rushed for our goal, only to disperse centimeters away from the large blue bubble. The ball sank into the force field like it was a cushion and fell gently into Sugimori's hand, casting a tranquility over the room.

Then someone on the field gave out a hoot, and the rest of the Mikage Sennou followed with tenfold enthusiasm. Even I felt a tug in my chest at this powerful display of camaraderie. How did it feel to be Sugimori, a man who carries the hopes and dreams of his companions? Was that the cause for the sunken wrinkles carved into his face, or was this what once fueled Arata's passion? I was left grasping for the answers an outsider would not be able to find.

Kidou cursed. "What's wrong with it, Sakuma-kun? We timed it perfectly."

The tanned light hair striker with the eyepatch who had proposed the hissatsu earlier gritted his teeth. "It's the power. We're not synchronized yet."

Kidou nodded and turned to the other forward. "Jimon-san, kick harder. I'll pass with less force next time so it'll be easier to watch Sakuma-kun. This way you can focus more on your strength instead of the timing." The reverence and devotion Kidou's teammates held for him were well deserved: he shouldered the responsibility when they could not. _Just like Sugimori is doing_. My eyes drifted toward Arata once again. His condition had not improved with the addition of the bruise on his temple.

A particular memory called for my attention. I frowned as I tried to retrieve it. Taiyou...Taiyou once told me…

" _Just watch. Kidokawa isn't playing with their full capabilities yet."_

" _Why not?" I asked innocently, baffled by his words, "Haven't they noticed that they'll lose the match at this rate?"_

" _Well…" he drawled, lying down backwards, "It's not that they aren't, really. It's more like they can't. Of course they know that they would need to play better if they were to move up, but they don't know how to do so."_

I gasped.

Mikage needed Arata, _their_ Arata, not this shadow of himself, just like how Kidokawa needed Yoshida. They were the matches that lit the torches to guide the way to victory. But how could I get the message across? Borrowing Toyama's microphone was not an option.

As if on cue, everyone in gray uniforms turned toward me.

"What…" I shrunk under their expectant stares. My eyes caught the other forward beckoning me frenziedly. Slowly, I looked down and saw the severed connection in my hands.

 _Wait, I'm just a small town girl who haven't even kicked a ball in her life!_


End file.
